People with memories,
Primarily
sharp, but also deep-
Repositories
of histories;
Forever
close, we must keep.
He
happened to be,
At an
old spot,
Where
they used to sip tea;
A
monument, long lost.
He feels
some things,
As if it
were all happening live,
Oblivious
of other beings;
Although,
he wasn’t high.
He
notices though,
A plugged
speaker,
In place
of the usual radio;
Takes
the phone from the shopkeeper.
Types something
into the phone,
The song
ends abruptly;
He
stands at a corner alone;
As now hums
Ghulam Ali-
“मुद्दतें गुज़रीं पर
अब तक
वो ठिकाना
याद है”
Whoa!
What words!
What life! You beauty!
What times! Those hearts!
What setup! That tea!
