Houses of Memories

I was a child,
when curiously,
I lingered on some black and white pictures.

Those pictures of unknown people...
faces of old times,
then, carefree, I went back to my games.

With the passing of the years,
those pictures,
became more and more.

I thought how sad those houses were,
I used to call them: houses of memories.
Getting rid of those images with a smile, I got back to my dreams.

Then...I started myself
having the same pictures too
and as time goes by, they become more and more.

Those I'm looking at now, are not pictures,
but instants.
Joyful instants, stealed to time.

Which
as marble plugs,
One after the other, fill my heart.

With memories,
With life joys and with pain.

The house of memories is me.

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Category: Poetry