Dust and Smoke





On days like this

I feel my memories stir;
I feel them move;
I feel them look at me,
and blink
like a person
who has just woken up
from the deepest of slumbers.
I watch my memories
walk groggily in my mind;
I watch them
as they ‘accidentally’ spill things over
on the pristine floor of my mind.
And the more they spill,
the more I feel.




I feel a tsunami
build up inside me;
A tsunami of emotions
sometimes healing me,
sometimes opening up my wounds.
And I let the flood
take over me.
I stand there like a fisherman
who faces the tsunami
well aware of his death,
just to bid goodbye
to his comrade – to his boat.
And after the tsunami subsides,
I am surprised
to see myself alive;
And all that is left around me
is the evidence
of what had happened.
My emotions settle down
like smoke settles slowly on the top,
and dust settles slowly at the bottom;
And as I rock my memories
back to sleep,
I take a good, long look
at the souvenirs
that my once pristine mind holds:
Dust and smoke.
The smoke moves to the top
and the dust stays at the bottom.



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