We always wanted to meet
Greet each other in the same old tone,
Hurling careless, loving curses.
With soft whispers of naughty remembrances.
Alas, the pathetic push & pull of life;
Dust winds of new wants and desires,
Sent that old group photograph,
Back into the backyard;
Full of old trunks and hold-all.
We met after years.
We knew where the old wretched keys are,
It took a while, though
To unlock the unattended, rusted, beaten lock.
Some could recollect faces, but had no name;
Some didn’t even remember names!
But one small mention,
And the same face became a giant screen!
Images and pictures slid by in a jiffy,
Like an old Eastman colour movie trailer.
It was a short time, together
But time was well lived.
We shared, smiled and shouted
Laughed, sighed and whispered.
At the end of the evening,
We stood for a moment,
And made a promise, again.
To try to keep the lights on
Of our backyard;
To keep wiping off dust,
From that old group photograph.
– Kanishka Mallick (1996 Batch)