Keepers

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!