when we hang the clothes on a loose nail

when we hang the clothes on a  loose nail
hoping to find them there again
and the nail decides to give way
throwing all the garments on the ground
some wrinkled and some safely placed over the others
like memories which  put layers over others
till cyclone comes
and washes away all the sand
and the small dried starfishes, and the snail shells
lying uncared
but not uncollected
i will walk again and again, collect these like trophies
of time
that was there
when i did not know,
whether my collections will have to be auctioned
so as to forego
the punishment for remembering
my duties towards myself
an also my shadows