If I exhaled them
Or washed them down the drain
For they’ve gone missing
Like my spectacles and now
I can find them nowhere.
I replaced them – my spectacles
I bought new ones in place of the old
But the poems, alas; I can’t do the same
If there’s a number I could call on
Like a ‘Lost and found.’ I used it once to
Get back the book my sister gifted me; the one I’d
left on the flight from Hong Kong
or at-least if there was a locator tag
Like the one I use to find my phone
When its misplaced. I rack my brains
But its of little consequence
If the poems made their way
Into the trash-
I left it out last night
And in the morning
The garbage truck picked it up
to be dumped into a landfill
And soon it’ll be buried under piles of waste
before being incinerated.
So while the words
Are no longer there
to string into verses
I use my brushes
Adding a dash of red
in a world of grey
the pictures read as poetry
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