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Exactly five years ago I lived in a city
that I named as the city of my struggles
quite an imposing brand you would say
but I found it appropriate in my mid-twenties.
I crawled against my inertia to move
dragging myself outside everyday.

At exactly half past eight in the morning
I would hop on a bus to my workplace
I could recognize every face in there
perhaps I seemed mundane to them too.
I tried to look for novel pictures
relaxing on my fixed window seat
peeping out to find traces of another world.
Just before a lazy traffic signal 
the bus screeched loudly at a stop
cars puffed smoke groaning more than their owners 
the cacophony seemed unbearable.
On the opposite side stood a building 
seemed ancient but echoed with giggles.
My eyes always paused at a window
marked by mauve dahlias visible from the pane
spraying hope on whoever smiled at them.
The owner was an old man perhaps in his fifties
watering them with all the love he could.
He glanced once or twice at me
as if protecting his darling dahlias
I laughed and the bus moved to my destination 
I forgot about them in my hectic day.
Then at exactly half past six at dusk
the bus sighed at the same stop .
The dahlias lighted by lilac sunset
smiled at me to revive me with joy,
behind them was a proud bookshelf.
The old man next to them with his book
caught me red-handed staring at his dahlias
then laughed at my sheepish grin and waved.
I waved back to the gentle old man
and this became our routine for the next four years.
On melancholic days he waved them at me
in joyous moments he greeted with a smile.
Then my struggles in that city came to an end
I moved to another place forgetting that trend.

One day I paid a visit to someone in that neighbourhood
the building no longer seemed to echo laughter
someone said it had been ablaze before the rain
no casualties since the residents had been evacuated safely.
I hopped on the same bus and saw the broken window
from where the old man used to wave at me.
A memoir of my diary in days of vain
now symbolized by a forgotten windowpane,
but I noticed something else to make me smile
a tendril with a single mauve dahlia crept from a moist wall
reaching the old man's broken windowpane.
Perhaps something in that corner had been left for me
a fragment of the frayed phases in my journey.

~~A memory from my map


May 30, 2020
BRIAN'S CHOICE 11,any form,any theme contest
Winner: First Place
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