Who slammed
memories on you?
Not a fragrant
flower to flaunt,
Not a
succulent fruit to show,
Not a
rapturous myth to reveal,
Maples!
conjured to bid adieus
across
slambooks, on wallpapers,
adored
epitome of nostalgia!
Which
convention or ancient promise
infused
memories on your hues?
Pity! every
newborn leaf's
burdened with
memories
- old and
decayed.
Hold it! spare a sachet of love
for the
mango trees
sheltering
the scent of fresh earth.
Which
childhood escapes
the flavour of
its memory?
The many
futile mud-cakes
cooked
under its shade,
the taste
of stolen mangoes,
the festive
swish of swings,
the colours of Onam carpets...
Festoons of
leaves
greeting aishwaryam on lintels,
lending
rich aromas in kitchen,
cleansing
toothy smiles at dawn,
consorting
lonely poets at night...
Quenching greed-greed
of a mom,
feeding
foetus in its amniotic cradle,
blending
two into one- in life;
till,
encased in the pyre shell,
pared to a handful of ashes…
to a plume
of smoke…
diffusing
two into one- in death
My
salutations, mate!
for every strand of memory--
of stolen
moments, unkept promises
and
secrets of endless trysts--
you hoard
over the years…
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