On some lonely park bench

It was when trees were bare,
laden with freshly fallen snow,
the frozen earth
crunched at every step,
the sky threatened another round
of flurries to last all day:
I sought refuge from fatigue
and aimless wandering
on some lonely park bench.

The donor etched a
memorial of a loved one
who passed on not long ago:
providing this convenience
that on our paths somewhere
we cast our tired souls
on someone else’s memory.

Rain burdened clouds
crossed the frigid skies,
casting layers of surly moods,
icy waves lapping
the cold sandy shore
sweeping away today’s footprints,
smoothening anew for another day.
 
Time renews its ancient tricks
of swallowing everything in its path
making hostages to lost memories.
Those left behind
refused to cast off:
a name on a small brass plate
on some lonely park bench,
a feeble defiance
to oblivion.