Friday, October 24, 2014



                  A  BUNDLE OF MEMOIRS

Which is that passion that hasten to

Turn into clouds and drip down as a rain?

Which is that note that  remains in the heart

As a gossamer emotion of a  sentiment?

Love blossoms as a  poem as the breeze

fondles the  passions with a finger touch.

Many a dawn saw me sitting down

Veiled by the morning mist, despondently

Remembering those sunny moments we had

Together, when you and me were  neighbours.

Now the resplendent evening,  whispers

Into my  ears that we both  have become

Victims of separation from our beloveds.

I used to sit under the Gulmohur trees ablaze

With fiery blossoms at  the entrance of Spring
Thinking of you, and engrossed in reveries.

The Providence  has decreed  that we should

Never  be together as we desired, and thus

We had to part, carrying the rucksack

Of our memoirs, tread in our own paths

and occasionally lick

Them like a dog licking its wounds.

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