That corner tea stall.

Where that uncle,

whose name I never bothered to know,

sneaked a smoke before

sipping his first tea of the day.

That slant of sunray.

The patch it fell on,

and how it shifted through the day.

That vegetable vendor.

The clanking as he set up his wares,

and how he rehearsed his hawking script

to alert his regular buyers.

My neighbors.

Many of whom I only recognised by face,

but never knew their names.

That familiar young girl.

Who, one day, looked more beautiful

than she did on any other day.

My home for a few years.

I still remember that last look I gave,

knowing I wouldn’t be returning to it ever.

Or, even if I did,

it would not be the same one I had left behind.

In that lane,

I have left behind so many things.

No one would have realised

that I was the only one absent after a certain day.

~