The one which you wouldn't find now
It was sturdy and strong
The top had a brown cloth lining
With leather patches in the corners
It was lockable with a click
A prominent sound made
When unlocked too
The inside was blue the hue of infinity
And spacious too
I stored my precious gems in there
Only a few.....the epics, Ramayana
And Mahabharata, Shakespeare,
Ben Hur, Three Muskateers,
Engrossing translated versions
For children with beautiful pictures
On glazed papers in between
I read the stories again and again
Deeply inhaled the fragrance
Of yellowed pages...stared at the
Pictures for hours and hours
Time travelling to be with them
When Ben Hur rode the chariot
And M'Lady smiled mysteriously
Hanuman blazed down Lanka
And the Pandavas battled against
Their brothers....I lived and re-lived
The tales with unforgettable characters
Then I lost to time the suitcase
And my treasures in transit to
Another .... of survival of the fittest
But it's smell and warmth
Still remained with me and became
Stronger from memory to living reality
I know as I grow younger by heart
And older by age...the trove shall
Return to me with divine grace
Because that's the rule of the Universe
As linear proceeds time we humans move
Backwards from branches to branches
To slender twigs to wizardry of stems
And then the roots spread deep within
The bosom of the Earth where all of us
Shall sleep at last with Macbeth, Othello,
Hamlet, Ram, Arjun and the rest
Shared with Poets And Storytellers United
Ah, those are treasures indeed! I've loved them all too. And really, they don't leave us, even if the books where we first found them do.
ReplyDeleteYes. Very true, Rosemary.
ReplyDeleteReally nice job. "Grow younger by heart and older by age...." What a great line. I used to have a suitcase like that!
ReplyDeleteThank you Yvonne. I wish the world could retain the power of innocence.
DeleteLovely - especially the last verse! I hope that the universe lives up to that expectation.
ReplyDeleteYes, the Universe listens, Rajani. Thank you very much for liking my poetry.
ReplyDeleteIt is a suitcase of memories, isn't it? It locks up all the things that have given us joy and love.
ReplyDeleteLovely poem, and it reminds me of the little suitcase that I used in my primary school days. :)
Yes, a suitcase of memories which still makes me happy.
DeleteGrowing younger by heart is the real blessing ultimately.
ReplyDeleteYes, true. Well said.
DeleteI feel this. Nothing is ever destroyed. It just changes form. The memory is like a song on a record. We're not playing that song now but it's still there:
ReplyDeleteI don’t check my bags
because the subatomic particles
that look like me
are afraid of losing
and disappearing...
because science has proven
my suitcase is an illusion
filled with mostly empty space
Colleen your comment makes me think.
ReplyDelete