Though we grow up in the midst of a crowd
Our inner soul wanders in solitude.
As the wheels of the present give away,
And the wings of time wear out,
Slowly the crowd diminishes in front of us.
And when we reach that desert island of senility,
The remnants of our past gradually unfold
Through these still photos that proclaim
A thousand untold stories, forgotten memories,
And the colors that once splashed across our lives.
They are the cords that bind us to myriad acts
A profusion of emotions all clicked and stored
That bring a smile or even a tear in the present.
Theme Thursday- Camera