Stems of light, apprehended,
comprised in a frame 
of fuzzy, speckled imagery.
Memories etched, staining time
along spectrums once focused 
with refined precision.
Apparitions of past fragments,
transcend; condensed on fabric
weaved through the eye of a lens.

photographs.
bits of nostalgia you can fit in your pocket,
full of stories and adventures.
rivers where emotions lie,
giving these snapshots meanings.

May be some day..

The case in my storage fell on my head..when I was hysterically hitting my hands for the lost confirmations of adulthood..
The mother of coincidences and fate was up today..

The box contained all the pictures of my childhood.. which today are on Facebook, and the timely flashes of memories that don’t mean as much, pokes a hole in my heart..

The time where careless was adored and playful and silly was the only way to be.. running behind my little chickens and teasing my parrot for a chilli was the sport that kept me fit..sad that sport today means watching matches at the stadium or late night football leagues..

The exercise that we got when mother ran left and right only to put that bite in our hunger hole.. how so luxurious has that bite of mother’s love become..

When Hotwheels and Funschool and Playdough was the hip of the hour.. when did an iPhone replace it all ?
Popcorns and Rasna, and Uncle Chips and  lime juice were the menu desired.. no one told me Rasna becomes *** and coke and uncle chips becomes Pizza and Fries.. or lime juice would turn into a Mojito, flustered..

May be cotton candy will never be ‘buddhi ka baal’ again..and nutties and gems and boomer bubble gum are left just words..

Balloons outside the park were the reason we went to weddings..who knew weddings will be the misnomer for departing friends..how swing sets and see-saws are just equations of physics and childish banter..

When the only cricket teams were the kids in the colony, and we hadn’t to worry about India, Australia and South Africa..
When gangs rode cycles and ate Eclairs for evening snacks.. how has it become bikes and cars and kebabs with whiskey over the years..
When getting hurt in the knees was a sign of strength..how heart breaks have become a taboo of the weak..

Times when fever was a festival of cold packs and mother’s kisses on the forehead and stomach aches were the cheat codes for skipping school.
How even diarrhoea and fractures don’t get us off work..

Chilling meant Cartoon Network.. parties meant cakes and presents in the house..and birthday songs still meant like Grammy nominated jingles of happiness and satisfaction..

Sitting on the floor with a tiny tear and a wrinkle of a smile on my face, I get spotted by my mother. She’s curious to know, how her ever frantic and running child came to a halt.. and the time turned tides, it was 5th grade again, when I shared with my mother all the happenings and happiness and sorrows.. and insecurities meant bullies and not bosses anymore..

Like my wish of ‘may be some day, all over again’.., mommy picks her mess of a child up, hugs me tight with a kiss full of affection on my forehead..
May be someday, again this box will fall into my hands, and Luck will play its tricks to muster a kiss from my mother..
May be some day..

Time forgot her,
but you didn't  
she still lives in the memory
her imprints on the places she touched
her thoughts in her diary full of poetry
her last words carved in the cemetery
and the smiling photographs in your album
still keeps her alive
she's that birdie flying
and that butterfly lingering
always buzzing in your mind
she's still part of your life,
she won't die till you do.

I saw them today
bundled in a pile
in my kitchen somewhere.
In them,
I see two children,
bright as sun,
good as gold,
foolish as the malcontent.
The nights
we loved,
the nights
we couldn't bare to.
And despite all,
in these photos
we are happy.
I keep it this way forever.