On the verge of forgetting.

On the verge of forgetting. short poem

Somewhere in a dusty corner lies
a memory of you. Neatly folded
into a perfect square. Tucked away
precariously amongst identical pages
of denial. Sometimes, it threatens to
burst into flames. But layers of conceit
(both yours and mine) douse it. Effectively.
One of these days I will bury it deep enough

and keep it out of reach. Safely. Forever.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 4.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

4 Comments on "On the verge of forgetting."

Notify of
Sort by:   newest | oldest
Editorial Board

@Loreto_Maimoni your poem arouses this sudden transformation of mind. It’s like now you were a human, and suddenly you become a ‘neatly folded perfect square’ and then a memory buried ‘deep enough’. The power of your imagery is so strong, the poem sticks to you even after you are done reading it. Waiting to read more!

Chandrama Deshmukh

@Loreto_Maimoni The images in your poems are so gripping they don’t leave me long after I have read them. So much packed in this short piece. The simplicity makes it even more beautiful. Waiting to read more of your poems.

asoke kumar mitra

very heart wrenching write.



Forgetting short poem

What was about this face? Between mirage and actuality? A fireball was coming towards you. You upturn the underside, wanted to taste the blood and get argasm. The statues were posing nude. Mothers were clad in leaves. Fruits were the


Forgetting long poem

Let’s paint these walls red, With the blood of our dead. Of the lost and wounded, the sad and depressed. Let’s paint that chair green, With the leaves of the trees. The trees cut down, every day, week, month, year.

Verge Of Defunct

Verge Of Defunct long poem

Her ashen face, Was forever concealed in her hand. The prospect of the land beyond the cloud, Forever being fantasized in her head. Alienation and estrangement consuming her. Many thought she was almost as good as dead. The ignorant blurs


Forgetting... elegy

The call you didn’t receive The call you didn’t make back Still haunts me at night… I type your number and erase it all I still wait for your call… I gaze at the stars in silent nights It’s the


Forgetting long poem

  (love is so short, forgetting is so long. –    pablo neruda) Thought I had sent you on the back of a river, away, away, to distant valleys. Thought I had sent you on the back of a cloud, away,