Those old times have gone by...
And all that I have is a chest of memories kept aside.
There’s a frail presence of faith and hope;
Objects in the light seem to disappear as I mount the steps,
And reminiscence decides to summon as I write…
The poet’s pen kept in a locked cabinet;
All that’s remained is rust and dried ink.
I wonder if words will follow the course of thoughts.
Nevertheless, it’s worth a struggle…
Caught up in Yesterdays and Denver’s music,
Sunday Mornings come to my mind.
Waking up to the tune of the singing bird and Mama’s embrace,
Playing hide and seek all throughout the day;
Cousins and acts of mischief, and punishments;
Those were moments filled with glee!
Never will I forget those bicycle rides and falls;
Getting drenched in the monsoons and Dad’s scolding,
Half days in school and afternoon sessions of mental math;
Evenings and games of chess with Grand Dad…
The roof top, a favourite spot for chit-chat,
Or just waving out to the wayfarers and cars.
Fascination with dogs, cats, fish and butterflies;
And that’s how the dog became a good friend.
Dressing up with mom’s make up and shoes,
And the lingering scent of dad’s Old Spice bottle.
Nostalgia plays on and on...
So much to remember and smile about;
Yesterdays and Sundays have gone by,
Still reminiscences remain to keep the child alive.