How fleeting are those memories we capture on a film
Polaroid or celluloid
in monochrome or black and white                         
In sepia or in photo tint

Eyes touched up or blazing red
The  blinding flash going off in my head.

It’s strange how a simple photograph
can bring back memories
consigned into the past,
in the deepest recesses of the mind,
left undisturbed till now.

Last week while indulging in that pre-Diwali cleaning mania, a photo slipped out from an album and reminded me of another time.

A summer day so long ago
My blue dress fluttering in the wind
Your tiny hand that pulled me so
along
the walled periphery.

Those memories come back to me
Your little rosebud mouthed “O”
Your fine brown curls playing round your face
Your big wide eyes
Absorbing all there was to see.

Your determined stance in dungarees
Cheeks blushing pink you stood your stand
As I told you to leave my hand.

But you dragged me on determinedly
To show me the doggie on the other side.

That photograph of both my girls
one inside
And one outside
Brings back memories that
still evoke that longing
to envelop them
in warm  and tight embrace;
And recall that never forgotton
Smell of Johnson’s baby talc
Of petal soft skin,
Of soft brown curls
and Baby bottoms smooth as a pizza dough.

Seeing that photograph
brings back memories of
eyes crinkled up in glee
with gurgled laughter
dimpled cheeks and heavy jowls
Fatty feet
and baby kicks of the little one still within
Straining to get out and join the world.

That was an almost perfect day
When life was young and simple still.
To see each day with your fresh eyes,
And give a hundred answers for your incessant “Whys”
I see myself those years ago and remember
A life of near perfection.

 This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda