The rusted box

It was dark,

It was eerie.

It was a graveyard.

The sky and the earth were as dark as the jet black soot.

There was not a soul to be seen,

The dark, leafless tress appeared like extensions of the lifeless and forgotten that lay beneath.

The owls hooted and the wolves howled.

The light of the moon was overshadowed by the darkness of the spectral location.

I stood near a grave.

It had my name.

There was a stone on the grave,

It said “the forgotten childhood of mine”

The date inscribed was that of my 15^th birthday.

I grew anxious,

And decided to dig the grave.

I failed to understand what the stone meant.

I kept digging, and found an old, worn out iron box.

The box had gathered dust,

And had all rust.

It appeared as if it had had a bright colour at some point in time,

But that the chains of time had imprisoned its liveliness.

But great difficulty, I opened the box.

What drifted out was unexpected.

A bright, golden, translucent wave of thoughts rushed out,

All my memories of childhood enshrined in it.

It started to spread light in this otherwise lifeless atmosphere.

The darkness was outshined by this speck of light.

Soon, liveliness spread.

The black light turned golden.

And the sad times turned cheerful.

This poem represents how we forget the pleasures of our childhood as we grow up and how our lives have becoming boring and dark without these lively and forgotten memories our ours.