And then there are days like these when certain sidelined fragments of your memory suddenly wake up and linger all through the clichéd morning to the time when you make yourself comfortable snuggling under your comforter. And on one such day she resisted her urge to snuggle from the cold, to scribe the fragments into words.

After the milkman’s bell
Woke me to another morning
I sat by the window
With coffee and a mild breeze
And pebbles of random thoughts.

It was on the night of a power outage
When the blind
Led the sighted to safety.
Awake from sleep
Not knowing if it was the sleep
Or the dream of sleeping
That made me feel strange

I was seated
Among restless passengers
A crying baby, delayed flights
Torn shoe and spilt coffee
And a stranger beside
Who seemed to tell me
“You’ll be around me,
A few good hours.”

So a few good hours they were
With books and cookies
And smiles
And a few good hours
Is all it took
To be born into the arms
Of a stranger.

And before I knew
I had confined him
Into a mental postcard
And placed it safe
In my marriage album.

She closed her diary, stepped into her bed and snuggled close to Rehan. Watching the contented peace of his fast asleep face, she drifted into a tight sleep herself. The fragments, too, slept with her.


One Response to “Fragments…”

  1. nice!

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