dated: a draft since August 2014; published and revised April 2015.
no list of a personal
whatnots, not mine to keep
leaving is not what it seems:
too many things to carry, to hold dear
with luggages that trudge along sideways;
boxes that can never seem to be filled up,
with the love of nostalgia and heydays.
what’s there to adore, to reminisce?
I wonder too. perhaps I have grown old,
starting to love stained things, dust-filled tin boxes