When love comes back...jetlagged

Three hundred miles he crossed
And when he finally came...
To that small street
He appeared kind of lost...
But isn't this the street
In his dreams for the last few years he meets?
Isn't that Mahogany tree
He in his imagination does always see?
But now on the real plane
He noted how the landscape changed...
A few years back...
Only vans and cycles plied this track...
Nor were there so many shops...houses...blocks...
Now big glassy facades his nostalgic mind mock...
He walked...
With a searching look
Turning silently the pages of his memorized book...
There should be a house...at the end
Of this street where it should bend...
There should be a pond on the left
After a few yards of walk there should be yellowish gate...
There should be...
He thought and walked
As if he by some memorable sight stalked...
But the real was different...
Not with his mind it matched
Instead of a pond...he found apartments...
His reverie got perhaps smashed...
Still he walked with a hope...
He had,as if taken a dope...
To find that house certain...
That with a probable pink curtain
On a front window big...
He again his memory rigged...
And he walked...
'Here...it should be the house...'
He mumbled within ,standing dazed
In front of a house...double storied
With a front garden and a pathway...
Like those unforgettable days...
And now he was in trouble...
He was not sure what to do...
'But when I really traveled
Three hundred miles...
I shouldn't leave without a clue...'
So he thought as he fumbled
Between present and the past...
All tumbling down fast...
So he cleared his voice...
Checked his shirt...his poise...
And then stepped on the door-front
And knocked soft on the wood...
And...the door opened to give him a jaunt...
For there stood in white dress
A nun like figure...devoid of black tresses...
An old looking tired face...
But still those eyes carry that faint trace...
Of fire long burnt...dissipated...
Of love gone wrong...unanticipated...
He said
with a tone...clumsy...
'Are you...if I am right ...Shree?'
Hearing the name shortened
The woman looked straight to him...struck...
She squinted her eyes...
She gave a suspicious look...
And then her saree's end she took
To cover her mouth...her surprised stare...
She looked amazed...
Her forehead bare...
Got a few curves...
And he dared...
To drop the last hint...
'I'm me...Remember?'
 Saying this much he dropped his eyes...
For a terrible storm was about to rise...
Within him....after the long travel...
He looked at his shoes...
Tapping soft on the marble...
She said nothing....
She just stood...
For a few moments...
She just stood like stone...
And then...
There was a whooping cry...
'Why? Why you come back? Why?'
She almost let out a scream...
He knew then storm did begin
A pleasant whirlwind took its claim...
On him...the stupid man...standing lame...
He then felt tired...
Enveloped by the jet-lag...
And fell...
On the woman who could still bear
The burden of love upon her... so frail a figure...