Whispers of a Forgotten Time

A forgotten scrapbook –
Of memories
Suddenly popped up in a nook
As I cleaned up the attic.

I sat down and flipped through it.
The pages were yellowish and worn,
And soon, I was transported
To a time long lost and gone.

Colorful stickers of fairies
From a time when magic existed;
Me and my friends wearing wide smiles
Posing in photos that were pasted.

Sketches of flowers and butterflies,
Oodles and oodles of doodles,
The Sun crayoned in the blue skies,
And streams meandering like noodles.

Yes, those were the days, indeed,
When dolls made of candy wrappings
And purses made of mango tree leaves
Brought me immense happiness.

With each page, I walked
Slowly down memory lane,
When deep within, I heard a whisper
Like someone speaking from far away.

“The joy you seek day after day
Is not in the things you chase,
But, inside you, it has always lain,
Waiting to be found from its hiding place.

There is no perfect place or time
For you to decide to be happy.
The phase you thought you’d left behind
Is a map for creating more memories.”

And this was what the voice spoke
As I sat with my scrapbook in the attic.
Enlightened, I was, as I arose
With a song on my lips and a beat in my step.

The Box

I had a little box.
It was made of marble
With carvings on the top
And a small, metal handle.

No, I don’t recall
If I got it as a gift,
Or if it was bought
From the local market.

In that little box
I kept my tiny treasures –
Shiny stones I came across,
Shells, beads, and pictures.

With the passing years,
I forgot about the box
And all the tiny treasures
That in it, were locked.

One day, it did appear
When my room, I tidied up.
It was lying in a corner,
Amongst the other stuff.

I opened that little box
With a smile on my face –
For memories, it brought
Of another time and place.

That box is my connection
To my younger self.
It’s my oldest possession
As it sits on the shelf.

I love that little marble box
And the treasures it contains.
With it, time seems to stop,
And I become a child again.

I Have Memories

I have memories
Of strolling with my mother in the evenings.
Of the nippy, gentle autumn breeze,
And the bright red leaves falling from the trees.
Enamored, I used to run after these.
It was like being in a magical land of fairies.

I have memories
Of losing my heart to him.
Of the laughter and love I felt only in his company.
With him by my side, I was never lonely.
I felt so much like the orange colored autumn leaf
That twirled as his love-like zephyr swept me off my feet.

I have memories
Of Death scarring parts of me.
Of stealing moments that were lovely.
Everything around me seems to weep mournfully.
And, yellow autumn leaves glide gracefully
As the light wind guides them to their destiny.

The Past’s Perfect Memories

“He was your great grandfather,”
My grandmother said matter-of-factly.
I took a second look at the photograph
Among the many scattered around me.

I looked at the dark-skinned old man
Dressed in a white turban and dhoti.
“He was a farmer,” my grandma went on,
“And he was an expert with the sarangi.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” my father added.
“As a child, I used to sit on his shoulders
And listen to the melodies he played.”
I was intrigued by the man in the picture.

The ancient photo was black and white.
Even then, I could see it was very sunny.
So many questions arose in my mind
About this stranger from my family.

What was he like? He seemed nice.
What was a sarangi? I wanted to listen.
What did he grow in the fields? Rice?
My curiosity piqued in that instant.

“Put it back carefully,” my grandma said,
As I returned it into the old red album.
But, just before she turned to a new page,
I looked at my great grandfather again.

And I noticed his eyes in that picture.
He was gazing straight at me, it seemed.
I saw the affinity that was in his nature,
And, to date, I can also see that in me.

Echoes of the Rain

The drizzling rain reminds me
Of the green grass laden with dew
When I strolled on it with you.

And when it pours
With a constant pitter patter, I remember
Our conversations over hot tea and fritters.

When a storm rages with raindrops like whiplashes,
And the forked lightning crackles and flashes,
Bringing to life scary monsters in the darkness,
I reminisce the comfort of your warm embrace.

There are other people I’ve come across, too.
But the rain forever reminds me of – you.

The Child in Me

O! To be young again
And revisit those golden days
When I used to laugh and play
With other children of my age.

O! I recall the meadows green,
The daisies and frangipani trees.
And the many evenings that ended
By bringing home little bouquets.

O! I remember the songs I sang
Through the lyrics I didn’t understand.
No matter how many times I listened
To the tape recorder with the cassette.

O! I yearn for those moments
When everything was so amazing,
And I had so many questions
Answered in books and conversations.

But as I ponder in wonder,
The thought to me does occur
That my age is just a state of my mind,
And I can rebuild what was left behind.

Why?! How lovely it would be
If I rediscovered the child in me.
If she broke through the worldly norms
Although people say she has grown up.

To be happy without restraints.
To marvel and discover in wonderment.
To retrace the footsteps of innocence.
To relive those memories in the present.

Love Lost and Never Found

Love..sprouting like a seed planted in the fresh moist earth,
Unsure of the world around it, drawn towards the sunlight.
Reaching deep within with roots, leaf upon leaf unfurl,
Growing, growing and growing in the showers of desire.

Blooming with fragrant deep red petals like soft velvet,
Blossoming in the neverending, eternal, etheral Springtime,
Yearning every second, every minute, every hour, every day,
Longing to be known, acknowledged, realized and alive.

But what’s this? There’s something new and undiscovered
Sharp, dry, prickly, they can cut and draw blood outside.
Thorns… yes thorns of Ego, hidden among the red buds.
Hurtful thorns…with the passing moments, they too thrive.

Unrestrained, they grow faster, weaving a net of bramble,
Piercing through all, even the petals, not heeding to their cries.
Till all that’s left is a woody, dry underbrush that’s dead
With buried memories of a love that was lost…and happy times.

Treasures Of the Past

Some say what’s out of sight is out of mind,
And this is also true for the steady flow of time –
Seconds, minutes, hours, days, years and decades,
With every passing moment, they all fade away.
They take with them experiences sad and happy
And seal these in a cabinet labeled “Memories.”
The cherished ones at times pop up in the mind,
But many of these are forgotten and left behind.
Oh! To catch and freeze all those moments
With the details just as they were in that instance –
The dress, shoes, eyes, garden, smile, and rapture.
Yes! All these are captured in a beautiful picture.
These images are all treasures from our pasts.
They are the ones that make the lost times last.
Be it people, places, adventures, events or things,
A photograph is sure to pull the heart’s strings.
And whenever you want to relive those moments,
All you need is to look at the pictures in albums.