Memory Lane Poem by Sanchita Julka

One night, when my window panes,
Were blurred with the monsoon rains;
I took a stroll, myself all alone.
Down the solitaire memory lane.
A path, it is, twisting here and then;
Up and down, winding in joy and pain.
Here I see moments of happy days,
From a child to a girl dozing in fun and play.
There hung few annoying frames,
Of what I would love to repaint.
Landmarks of my life stand tall,
At every crossroad of what I recall
Suddenly, here I find a little alley,
Darting out of the often-tread
Streets of my memory valley;
I dared to step into it, dark and new
My bare feet hurting, as I walked through.
Lots of broken pieces of my heart
Made up the ridged stony path.
No nostalgia' flowers blossomed here,
The air was filled with clouds of tears.


I moved slowly, taking a heed,
I rather not dither my heart, than feet!
At a lonely corner of the grey street,
Within a mist of psychotropic sheet,
I spotted a dirt-adorned grotesque chest;
Should I open it, should I not?
At last myself, temptations hardly could resist
With screeches, cackles, and clutters,
The lid opens up in distress….
I found some ashes of my dreams,
Two champagne glasses,1 with a crimson rim.
A ditty of a lovestory, some torn pages,
Of a hardbound book I read half way;
Few pieces of deluded kisses,
Scattered beads of unstrung promises.
Damp and wet feelings incessantly,
Fumed out from the chambers of the alley;
I closed my eyes, better not stoke the fire,
Let it stay in the solemn mares.
Locked inside the casket of pain,
Let me walk away this memory lane.