Trinkets

Trinkets of memories
I pick them one by one
And put them back
In the same old box
And pick them up again

They become transparent in my hands
I can see through them
Into the long deep corridors of my past
Some unlit
Some well lit
And some dim lit
I can see nevertheless
The path I have travelled
All these years
Yes,I can very well see this
Through my trinkets of memories
They can still get my heart
Warm
Or cold
Soft
Or hard
Sweet
Or bitter
Such is the magic of
Such is the hold of
My trinket of memories.