My Trousers.

My trousers,

Old and faded,

Is kept safely in the almirah.

It was one of my first ones,

And its freshness reminds me,

That what it used to be.

Those old handlooms,

And the smiling glory.

It ain’t simply those trousers,

But the walk and thought of going,

To the journey,

Which though the past,

Brings happiness of many memories.


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