MEMORY

By Dr P K Janardana Kurup

Memory—
The feather the bird drops
As it leaves the tree trunk,
Having perched on it for long.

Memory—
The signal lines time etches
In the mind
Before it departs.

Memory, the deathless immortal,
Escaping
All your murder attempts—
It knows no death.

Memory is vociferous,
Neither silent nor speechless.
Memory is celebration—
A celebration of the mind.

You say memory is the other half
Of forgetfulness?
Oh no.
It’s the other way around.
Memory is the war
The mind wages
To chase away
Him—the oblivion.

Not a dream,
Nor a weakness—
Memory is revolt.
That’s what it is.

An absurdity? No.
Futility? Never.
Memory is a journey—
A journey of retrieval.

I grind myself,
Grinding to seek
My ultimate self.
Yes, that is memory.
Memory is the "I"
I eventually find within.

Through my memories,
I take countless births.
Bereft of them,
I am dead