The Poetic Meanders

The Poetic Meanders
The Teesta River - captured by Parth Adhikari

Sunday, 27 December 2015

The Library

The Library

In that town's library
Where we met years ago,
I again stand, alone
Like that day. And although
The door chimes still sound
Every time someone
Other than you enters,
I know I am undone.

The crone, older now, sits
Absorbed. Looking upward
From the lenders' ledger,
Flapping up like a bird
Every time strangers
Nudge her library's quiet.
But now it is not us
Responsible for the riot.

The literature wing
Today has nothing we
Loved in our times, poets
Who do not rhyme sit free
On the wooden shelves
Across which we first saw
One another searching -
You for Keats, I for Shaw.

Outside, the cafe serves
Scones too. You'd be pleased
To know our Mister Singh
Asked about you. He's eased
Into his calm eighties
Quite unbelievable, no?
Well, he's senile, yet has
Asked me to say "Hello."

Our Gulmohur's shade being
A delight as ever,
Now hosts young couples who
Believe in forever.
They are too young to know
What I haven't expressed -
The loss of the love I
Once profoundly possessed.