we held time in our hands
and made it stay still,
like a cup of water waiting to be drunk,
and painted memories on its surface,
believing that, like water on a cool day,
it wouldn’t change.


i’ve read that some memories are hereditary –
children recognize people their parents knew;
i wonder if my daughter will know you
the minute she sees you
crossing the street in a strange land,
many years after I am dead,
and say to you,
“i saw you painted on her skin.”

or will you pass by her on a street
we never walked, and see on her face
the portrait of that time,
painted in the same color,
on the same canvas,
by a different brush.

it was a warm, rainy night;
i saw a tree in uninspiring green,
her branches almost barren,
standing up against a solitary light,
looking like a tree in Fall,
a memory of last season
or a sign of things to come?

About Aditi

My thoughts are who I am and I am what my thoughts make me.
This entry was posted in memories, Poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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