The memories
are only landscapes painted
by another
Time slipped through the ring
And my yesterdays
looked like someone else’s tale
His story
not mine.
And yet here I’m not here
Still an outsider; inside and out
Even standing still I roam
Just a roof does not make a home.
roam
Just a roof does not make a home.

Don’t be misled by the refrain
I am no harbour to pain
The pastures green I sought
A fairytale that was not.
Taught myself to sleep under greyer skies
On a prickly bed of lies.
And yet this is no yellow rain,
I am no friend to pain.

But sometimes while flitting
between moments and frequencies
a song plays on the radio
And I remember.
Memory breathes in a lungful of sky
And then life continues quietly by.

 

Aldeena Raju

Aldeena Raju

Aldeena Raju was born in an obscure town in an obscure state somewhere near the southern tip of India. She studied English Literature at the University of Delhi, India and currently works with an international publishing house in New Delhi. She is also a poet in hibernation who writes short stories as she waits for inspiration to rhyme. She hopes to complete a novel someday and meanwhile makes a living out of editing the words of others and getting cheap thrills out of missing hyphens and misplaced alphabets.

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