Sunday, 26 July 2015


Holding onto the reminiscence of our togetherness, 
I sat on that old bench again. 
The grass wasn't green, the birds weren't singing. 
There was no cold breeze, the bright clouds were not in a mood to provide any relief. 
But there was a serenity of memories all around.
Of the gulmohar tree and the hidden treasure we never found. 
My fingers lingered over the apologies you scribbled every time on arriving late. 
To make me feel, your presence was worth the wait.
Memories they are, memories the will be...

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