For five hundred and ninety two days
You have hung on the wall beside my bed
38 snapshots of bliss
Shocking colours of elation
Mellow smiles of celebration
Faces looking at me searchingly
Trying to whisper some word of the past
Acting as a window to peep into utopia that was
Still frames out of the cinema of my life
Actors out of the core of my existence
Urging me to relive the true me
A catalyst to my rutted weeks
Potent in its muteness
Complete in its fractioned self
People and places
Painted through the lenses
Occasions so obsolescent
Yet moments so immediate
Holding within themselves
The power to tug a smile
The potency to well a tear
And holding delicately
The icicles of my frozen past
For five hundred and ninety two days
You have hung beside my bed
38 snapshots of my head
Brought warmth in your constancy
And coursed life in my numbness
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