Forgotten

There somewhere in the corner, where memories lay dormant, mostly in a stupor, is a pot full of colors, vestiges of the shimmering glory, sequins of a life now gone. I hold a brush, trying hard to paint the canvas back, but alas, it's dry, crusty, mostly dead & forgotten.There is nothing new but redundancy and the various hues of it. Remission of remembrance, & a bit of resilience of theirs. They stay, forever.