Grandma’s Abode!

There are lives I have lived,
There are lives I haven’t.
There are hopes I have abandoned,
There are dreams I have forgotten,
I’m no superhuman,
Nor do I intend to be,
Like a humming bird
I fly back and forth,
I relive hopes and dreams,
They fear no death,
For none shall have one,
Like grandma’s abode,
We meet each burning fall,
With a promise!

Memoir!

When you are in a memoir territory, emotions become dominant at large. So much so, that once while reviewing a memoir, a New York Times Editor, (also a reviewer, a playwright, a critic, etc.) Neil Genzlinger, looked at the audience and started by saying, “A moment of silence, please, for the lost art of shutting up.”

-And I feel you Neil!

Go, Abscond!

I don’t know how many of you out there are looking for a sign in the universe, so here it is,

Darling, this is your life, own it, let them miss you for a while,

Let your absence be the answer to all the questions,

Go, Abscond!

Always!

Have you noticed,
How everything old has this beautiful,
Nasally mellifluous kinda fragrance,
Libraries full of old books,
Mom’s hair from her extralong hugs,
Lanes from your growing years,
Ripped Jeans from early years of college,
Pictures with no wrinkles,
Grandma’s Pickle jars,
And
Dad’s perfume,
oh, no matter where I am,
I will recognize them all,
Always!

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