I wanted to tell a story...
All of it remained,undone...
Bits and pieces,rest,here and there...
Some of it,forgotten,in a night's sleep
Some was burnt,in the ashes of a cigarette
A part of it,lost,in the city's accustomed crowd
A bit,stirred,in the day's temperature
A few had quit,before I did know...
What remained in the pages,remained,off the rest...
My story was left,untold.....
All of it remained,undone...
Bits and pieces,rest,here and there...
Some of it,forgotten,in a night's sleep
Some was burnt,in the ashes of a cigarette
A part of it,lost,in the city's accustomed crowd
A bit,stirred,in the day's temperature
A few had quit,before I did know...
What remained in the pages,remained,off the rest...
My story was left,untold.....
a story often after-all comes from pieces of experiences.also story of our lives continues to proceed according to what we do according to past mosaics of experiences.some of these parts wash away or cling to our minds as times flows by.
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