Book of Memories by Sukhpreet Singh

            

  A Book of Memories 

In the hurry and worry of keeping myself alive, 

left behind are some indelible memories of life. 

Out of the blue it dawned on me,

that British Drama book I open to see;

beautiful relics of the past, 

filled with cheer, love and feelings that still last. 

Courage was all what I took,

to open and dive into that book. 

Flipping pages, I found the first relic,

a hanky worn out, but still angelic. 

Holding in tight, yet tender grip,

I felt not pages, but years flip. 

I as a Young lad eagerly waiting for someone somewhere, 

sat on a bench by a brook, which flows not here. 

Saw I a girl, with unbelievable beguile,

walking towards me, with a warm smile. 

The loving caress ignited something inside,  

all fears, sadnesses and loneliness fell aside. 

Chatted we there, for quite long, 

nothing, but having only brook along. 

Together, big dreams were woven with sincere heart, 

not knowing that future is not together, but miles apart.

I remember having nothing in her hand at that time, 

to express her true love in verses and rhyme. 

This hanky she took and wrote, 

her feelings for me that will never rot. 

Her incense my nostrils can whiff till date, 

in that napkin which holds a relationship of late. 

Flipping further, I met a withered rose,

which still heaves, if given tears as dose. 

I picked that up with a tender care,

to feel something which I feel so rare. 

With Eyes shut, I saw myself in a park, 

sitting with her on a bench I heard a lark. 

Singing a melancholic strain the lark wept,

we carried on without being swept. 

In embrace and tight hold, we shared a lot, 

such loving embraces and care I find here not.

We laughed, sighed, panted together for long,

nothing, but having that melancholic lark along. 

The rose she presented me is the other relic,

that I adore so much for its beauty angelic. 

Rewarded she was and eventually I, with a kiss,

not knowing it would be something we’d always miss. 

Pricked I got, suddenly by a thorn, 

which brought me back where I am forlorn.

Bled I was a bit, not so much, 

yet the pain is so much, so much. 

Reality dazed me and I shook,

not having courage I closed that book. 

Long would I take to open that book again, 

which has indelible memories of love, care, happiness and also pain. 

Composer - Sukhpreet Singh