The placid water of a shrub-lined pond,

Reflecting the picture of a small cottage.

Which a friend would have let me live,

Away from people at the forest’s edge.

With a large deck and a creaking swing,

Breeze swaying it and warmed by the tender sunshine.

A small pantry in the corner with a few pots and pans,

A rack holding my few clothes and those knick-knacks.

A small shelf holding my books unread,

And the experiences and books listed to be reread.

A window overlooking the magic outside,

In which stands my ‘Palasa’ bereft of its flowers, leaves, and pride.

A table with a scrapbook and a few pens,

To help me give words to my myriad feelings.

To write my untold story,

Before it gets rusted and on which dust gathers.

Have enough space in my thoughts,

To stretch it to time infinite.

To keep thinking about you with the belief,

That you, somewhere are still thinking about me.

*

Jay Jagdev | 17^th March 2024