Now that you are gone
I try to make a search
Of you in your works,
Your writings, diaries, scrapbooks,
Your memorabilia,
And how I find you more
As a product of that time turbulent,
When people had lesser earthly hankerings
And more of camaraderie,
When the air had all the fervour of revolution,
When eyes of you and your peers
Had all the dreams of liberation,
And hope ,
For those half fed, naked, starving humanity,

Ah, those were the times,
When you wrote on walls ,
Slogans and songs,

Till hurried steps of black boots
Came like hoofs of nightmare
Through sounds of gunshots
And mist,

Time that got changed too,
And when peace came
It had wreaths
Upon its breast,
Of doomed youth,

Now that I see those pictures,
Sepia , grey,
How I get carried away
To those times,

How can I get the smell
Of smoke, tar, tea,
How in blurry eyes
Your youthful vigour
Do I see.