Remembrance

Is sometimes the rushing
Of a green river, carving
Stone pillars in the crumbling canyons
Of my Heart. Driven apart.
The riven highlands offer the years
A pebble at a time. A rock here
And there standing when
All about broke into dust eons
Ago. Today is a bridge under
Which the rushing waters sound
The deep, a thing to stand on
When all else seems tumbling
Past. To not have to leap. This
Bridge will not be
The last.

Image may contain: sky, outdoor, nature and water

Advertisements

Seasoning From Memory

I got the baingans right tonight
(The trick is not to heat the oil
Too much) and the kala namak
Was the perfect finishing touch.
The keema also turned out quite
Well. You could hardly tell
The difference from the way
Mom used to make it. Today
I remembered how much
Dad loved the baingan slices.
So dinner turned out well (it was just
A question of adjusting memory
To spices).