It is difficult to wash off memories.
Like all living things it appears,
They too must be having a genetic structure.
For they spin off one from the other
From the other … from the other…
You say good-bye, tata, or cheerio to a person
Just as you did it any other time.
But before you turn around, sit in a café,
And break a biscuit and dunk it in tea,
Time’s mercury dissolves his frame
And dumps it in the recycle bin.
From now on “he is” becomes… he was.
And from now on be remembered only
At parties, gatherings and family functions.
Threading through private experiences of people
He makes his presence (or absence) felt,
To dampen this eye or unsettle that heart.
The ageless death, like a rag-picker
Goes on relentlessly collecting into its bag
Anything between a foetus to a centurion
Putting different punctuation marks to life.
While time anoints people to mitigate their pain
Death ruptures the wound once again
As if to assert her superiority over and over.