That corner of the home,
Where upholstered tiny trunk stands alone.
Yes, something with stuff but still tenantless.
Close in on with the talks around,
A mysterious mystery he found.
Yes, someone in reminisce but still existenceless.
Frame behind the frame holds an unknown.
Cravings made the one to be known.
Yes, somewhere in relation but still groundless.
Day he opened the box in scurry.
Sight got seized in bright old banarasi and zari.
Yes, somehow in description he fits the pretenseless.