Lines of Recall
A looking glass or a mirage:
This life, believe me, is a cage
Recalls of days, gone and past
And the days that had ne’er last.
But lasts are memoirs’ memories
In spite of many Sisyphean tries-
Forgetting hurt in the heart
Is not dropping a pack in the mart.
Dried leaves of time don’t vanish
Happiness could be made to cherish
Still, if not be able to crush,
Sweep it away or handle a brush.
A looking glass or a mirage:
This life, believe me, is also a maze.
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