In Memory of My Former Neighbors

They talked very little.
I was like a pervert peering through to hear them.
“I read in a book somewhere what Love is,”
I wanted to tell them.
They  wouldn’t pay attention.
“The Memories broke loose,”
I told them.
“Now I cant see things for what they are.
They impaired my vision.
They rain in my window sill.
And I don’t know what season it is in the sky.
Memories, they have painted jarring yellow on my eyelids.
Now I guess and stumble and have second thoughts.
What was my first thought?”
I told them.
“I dumped it somewhere on the River.”
They gave a ‘have had enough of’ shrug.
I knew the River wrapped them up all around.
I knew there wasn’t just one river bank to go for a search.
They lived like that.
They had to touch the River at all points of time.
I mean, they still do.
They didn’t move.
I did.
And It’s not like I was the only fucked up confused one.
Sometimes in the middle of December they would bloom truckload of flowers,
That was supposed to be there only in June.
In those times they would make a defiant face.
That’s what they were.
Both Old and Young.
Both grave and giggly.
Both wise and reckless.
Both a lover and an enemy.
Isn’t that the epitome?
To be young with the old in you?
A phoenix.
A dilemma.
Anyway…
Where I moved into, I don’t know how to have these talks.
All I have is…
My vision impairing Memories.

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