The radio plays nostalgia

As I sit in the toasty yellow cab

Standing on the inky wet road

Fresh from the last shower of Monsoon

Somewhat out of place in October

Like the tears I beckon

In eyes that are now empty

All cried out

As I peer out of the window

And stare at our spot on Princep Ghat

And recall a vision of two innocent bright eyed teenagers

Dancing in the Autumn breeze

Much like the wind-catcher dancing on that distant rooftop in my view

As though it has stolen all it’s gaiety from us.

I roll the glass pane down as the cab driver laments having to clean out the leaves from his car later on

Due to my carelessness

And I whisper a question to the wind-catcher

Hoping the gale in my heart will carry it there

“Will you ever give me back those moments of pure bliss?”

A leaf flies in, as if in reply

I pick it up, examine it, and place it among the leaves of my notebook

Press it between the pages

Of my life

Like the rose in my diary from half a decade ago

For it contains myriad shades of orange, yellow, and brown

Signifying the end of our Summer together

The radio plays nostalgia

As I wonder

How do you manage to answer all my questions from Beyond?



This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon:

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