The Polaroid

Sixteen times had I made the attempt,
I exactly counted them,
each one of them...

Not once though could i muster so much courage,
As to walk to the open drawer standing beyond where I lay,

The light had been dimmed and brought back to life,
the same number of times
The moth that had been sitting peacefully at the helm of the silent gramophone
grew restless...
The disquiet,so palpable in the turbulent air stream of the room
was a discernible warning for the peace loving creature...

As the waves of quiescence settled into uniform pattern of jitters in my mind,
They brought along,vivid scenes of some distant block of memory in me..
Each such feeling so strong,it swept delicately fragrant rhythms of soulful vision; 

A vision, that was a time which was the present;some time in my past...

And such was the charm of the music,no symphony could have ever created
Peace as sublime as a mortal can feel punctured the jitters as ruptured bubbles..
That tranquil smile spreading on my face, 
breathing shallower,
I was dreaming again....

Did i really have to be so restless,
that picture had always been in me...
So vivid I could feel every contour of the face,
The Polaroid as it lay in the drawer,
could not be a better reflection of the face,
that I saw with closed eyes,
The picture that in me resides.... 


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