On windy roads on an autumn day,
Dipping mercury to frost as Charleville's ghosts glide
like in Potter's grand staircase portraits
You in the lane from the green room was a portrait too,
A vision to behold!
Had seen you many a times only to see you now
with the lights on you and some shadows
an Impressionist's dream but in a portrait holds true.
Behind you the clamour of recitals and rehearsals
Ahead, beyond the curtain, another play, another life.
My wand clicked a screen shot
Of you seulement, in pensive
Hills redefined, memories magnified,
My rusted wand now cleansed with the stain lace
from my grand mother's book of love,
choosing us as the wand does its own,
I save memories
of hands held and footprints made
of tears shed at airports and trainports
of the intangible robe of waitinghood
The other Bond and his sweet peas, his cherry tree and Landour
For us, our ghosts in cafes, lanes and those library books.
