I took it, when
It came my way.
I desperately hung onto it,
From me when it went away.
My hands ached,
My fingers burnt,
Onto it I firmly clung,
Though in pain I wept.

I thought, maybe,
Not for me it was made,
I let go and decided,
Let its memory fade.

But then, I realised,
Memories are memories,
They never fade-
But, that’s what are memories.

They recover time
And again,
Putting me off track,
Like a derailed train.

For what happened
Who is to blame?
Who is responsible for
Simmering in me the high flame?

Which should be blamed-
Circumstances or fate?
Whichever it is,
I sure do hate.