Sunday, April 20, 2008


"Who was that, third from the left?"
"No it was not her"
"She had long hair"
"May be she did not"

How often things fade
Slipping out of the edges
Of our minds.
and of those old farewell photographs.

How often we long for things
to fade and slip away into obscurity
just in time.

As we sift through nostalgia
Things are always fading
Always adjusting.
(even the still images)

1 comment:

Sri Vallabha said...

i am so touched reading your poems, that i feel a strong craving for those good old days.