Poetry Sunday

Photo by Karl Fredrickson on Unsplash

The door opened, I saw my years running back.
A little walnut, still brown and hard, rested
on my hearth. Days of laughing childhood,
transient but fresh, joined the run.
Tiny promises, tiny dreams, tiny wishes,
and tiny nothings lost in a wilderness.
Little joys packed in hard shells, lived in
hiding. Treasure boxes locked…



Sravani Saha

Author of ‘Yes, The Eggplant is A Chicken’ https://amzn.to/2Iym2ok Humorist, Satirist, Mom, Ex-Googler. Write to me at s.sravani@gmail.com