Stills of the solid colours, glint, under the night lamps illumination,
illuminating the darkest gloomy hours
Smiles unlocking the valise of the still smiles, under retaliation,
to travers the enviable crossroads, bit sweet bit sour.
The discordant giggles, the talks to lemniscate,
were all metaphorically audible from the still tapes,
the frolic wandering of eyes from one piece to another
was always a delight to slide through one piece to another.
Fingers dancing over roads one cannot take,
as it’s just a faint picture of memory it makes.
Unfamiliar to familiar roads,
homesick turned for another dose,
took out another picture,
to resuscitate the flaccid and for fixture,
photographs of the younger days changed the reaction of the visage, here,
and miles away the roads sneezed,
My homie must be remembering me after years.

-pragya patel