He hoarded everything.
From the nib of a pen gifted by his father
To the short pithy tales of a dark night.
He hoarded his achievements in a bag of cotton
And failures in the dingy lanes of his memory box.
He did not let a single shell to be lost,
And those multicolored rocks were integral part of his treasure.
There were crushed petals to be found in midriff of books,
And bells of the anklets of the maiden from the far off land.
Most of all,in abundance were the tears and the giggles,
The childhood dreams and the pitfalls of youth.
Now in the greying dusk of his life,
He has no company it seems.
But ,yet he is never alone,
Lost in the lanes of memories and maze of hoarded things,
He is happy in the selected company he keeps.