Scrapbook*

"Have you found that?"
He asked her,

"What?"
She asked back,

They were on the grassy land,
Stretching their legs,

The breeze of the evening
Was entering the town,

(Did she frown?

 Were her eye brows bending?

 He thought, )

"That scrapbook, i meant"
He replied, the breeze had the scent
Of a woman,

"O, I think I might it find"
Her works , equivocal,
(Was she smiling?

 What's up there stored for me,

 in her mind?


He thought)

The breeze had memories brought,

They were stretching their minds,
The town looked fabular in design,

"Remember going to Annie Besant Road?"

He asked, suddenly,
(The eve's breeze was so lovely!)

"You've forgotten the story, 

it was not Annie Besant , 

Helen Keller Sarani..."

She seemed confident,

"You remember all the names?"

"You got a terrific memory too,"

The evening was gathering itself
Like softness gathers itself
On leaves old and new,

"Its all about a scrapbook"
He remarked,
"And that me to places took"
She added,

The evening seemed not so faded,

The town looked wonderous,

The breeze was just fabulous.

(*Note: the picture attached is that of a scrapbook, )

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