memories of glass...
some glasses are like memories
spread wide a greenish fragile tinge
boyhood on reflection a nostalgic feel
'let's run up to that gate of steel
where the lemon tree stands...'
uttered once a friend of mine...
her eyes having a twinkle shine;
'what about plucking those green mangoes unripe
from that small tree where the old man sits and pipes
a tune every afternoon?'
I probably had suggested her then
and after a quarrel of choices in vain
we decided to do both...
first we ran to the tree -lemon smell
leaves on us like rain fell
as we shook the bough with our might...
then we took the street to the mango tree
from the distance we could see
the old man resting there
his legs spread bare
but he was piping the tune
so wonderous...a song heartful...
some glasses are just like that
fragile sheet of memories lying flat...
across the present tense a boyhood feel
and also of someone's girlhood sure...