(52) YESTER-YEARS

(52) YESTER-YEARS
Yester-years were as bleak and empty as brittle pot with a hole,
the same years were full of “ sound and fury” signifying many,
those were the days that ostracised me from the vagaries of weather,
which made me wander as a weather beaten vessel,
not knowing the reasons of shouts and clouts,
clinging to clairvoyance and intuitions,
as an infant would cling the feet of its mother,
those ARE the days that taught me to swim and solve,
those ARE the moments that shaped my feelings as deft
with the stroke of a painter, warp and weft of a weaver,
too many dents and too many holes and patches,
yet, the patches and darns usher into a resplendent future!