Walking alone in some Victorian dream,
on a path along some solitary beach,wrapped in a cape and a hood,
and in her hands a jaded book of hymns,
the sand sticks to her sandals but does not bite.
The backwaters flow between the sand and the hills
and the slopes are covered in a blanket of green.
I recall a woman walking in the sand
wondering if I met her would she know me!
In that dream where I see her, does she recall me?
What did we share, what let go?
In that idyllic past, where did I live;
where did I fall in love?
What were those things I was made to forgive
and then was led to forget in the flow?
Sushama Karnik.
GOOGLE.COM
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