There’s a silver ring in a wooden box
Set in its bezel is an acorn I found
On a path I took
When you weren’t around
Half buried it hid
Just below the ground.
Placed over these is a secret note
Tied with a rose colored satin ribbon
From an enigmatic beauty
To whom I’d given
A match she lit to a candle I held
Which pooled in my palm
With my skin it meld.
There were other memories too,
Like a pyrite cube and a fragile shell
One beneath a lock of hair
A quiet clapper from a broken bell
And some unspent coins from the pacific rim
And other trinkets I’d thrown in.
Its lid unopened, surfaced dusted
The hinges loose and rusted
A lonely shrine for a thousand loves
Each before the other was never enough
But the box itself is your memory’s chest
Which leaves no wonder that
Filled with others, overflows with emptiness.
This is so beautiful!
Bahut shukriya Arshia…