MOIST MEMORIES
I. MOHAN KRISHNA
In every drop of my warm
tears
Do I see my past crystal
clear.
The rainy day
I was beaten up by my
teacher
The stinking pillow
That soaked in my pain
The warmth of
My grandma’s lap
And the lullaby
That made me sleep
The nights
The unveiled melancholy
Ran down my temples
Unseen
The words
That cut my heart
Into pieces and
The people that hurled
them
The hour
I cried against my
Mother’s breast and
The hand that consoled
me.
Now, sitting on the
terrace
And looking at the
bright moon,
I recall them all
I doubt If I was ever
happy, and
Lo! the dark clouds
Converge on the moon!
And ...
I’m in darkness again!