On a workaday noon, holding this partial poem
from a faded note book against a deadpan sky
letting its still kicking life pick me up from dead,
since I could only open my eyes to its mustiness
I remember to remember you in easier times
In the evening, at the hotel reception, the tired fall
of the incoming footsteps tells it wouldn’t be my friend
And as I unblinkingly watch an old lady ambling in
hauling her weight and a bag of bananas to boot
then too I remember to remember you, in its time.
And finally when I remember you in the morning
I ‘m revisiting my old poem to give it a new fizz
and my mind half-forgetting you by the twelfth line
starts to wonder why the latest coin of 50 paise
looks much like the just withdrawn 25 paise.
Note: Hundred paise make an Indian rupee.