Dried Flowers

The flowers have dried between the heavy pages of the mind

Flowers of memories picked up from paths treaded
Thoughts gazed at lovingly
Some that got crushed in proving their existence

There are those that time has made powdery and frail
Some, that have turned to flower dust, unpreservable
Blowing away and scattering around each time the pages open

Dust of soft yellowish brown feelings
Fragile delicate memories
Settling on the hands and body, enveloping me gently for a few moments till
I stand and brush it off
And let it go forever

Some torn reminiscences that I lift my hand to reluctantly discard
But keep them back
For their torn form beautifies them

I smile at the gossamer pieces of brownness
And close the book again