I had this habit of …
Picking up,
Dried twigs,
Fallen flowers,
To-be-seeds,
Orange leaves,
Caressing my
way!
I squirreled
them away,
In the silent
pockets,
Of my florid
purse,
To show you,
(may be)
someday!
And make you,
Look at the
life,
(from my eyes),
I recollected,
Every time,
While walking
up to you!
But I never could
upend,
The unseen pockets
of my purse!
For you had
already,
Numberless
sights,
Filling your
eyes,
In succulent
ways.
I was afraid!
To bemuse you,
Or even evoke a
cold stare;
And thus, I
became,
‘Collector of
Unwed Recollections’,
Overtime! 
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