One never remembers. One just bears
the signatures of times and people
that crossed one’s life.

While playing with stuffed toys and
fig leaves, hunting down the ant’s
trail to their nests laden with eggs,
chasing the lame dogs on the street
one never notice these signatures
being etched into their being.

One night while sleeping in a cot
after a day’s play, he is suddenly
jolted awake by the fall of innocence.
Stuffed toys no longer come to life, and
ants suddenly look like a trail of boredom.

All that is left are some sweet whispers
of a long lost beloved, some warmth seeping into
his cold, lost being and a terrible urge
to go back to his dog chasing days, when
even the stuffed toys spoke his tongue.

//25th June 04

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