Uncollected Poem by O Sudhir Janardhanan

'The mind is a terrible thing - Along came a spider.'

I am not there.
I walked thru
empty recess of some thoughts
that still lay supine
on some memories
not yet demolished

Time doesnt stand
still on the clock
minute hand fallen
long ago.
I find time looking
at the hour hand,
lonely, position itself
against number glow.

Its four in
the evening,
I know by smell
of cutting chai
and meetings.

I see you stand
where I once stood
waiting,
with the longing, I
had given up to
escape from the pain
that now refuses
to go away.

Some days, I recognize
its evening seven
by sizzling dosa aromas
and clutter of
iron ladle lilting.

And, I see her nature
spawn outline
take texture from
heart it falls on.
I attempt to chase
myself into warm
contours left behind
by her memories fleeing, gone.

I try to catch the sun
strolling thru the sky
nonchalantly on a rainy day,
Shedding, dispersing
rainbows ephemeral
through every raindrop
as they raced
to meet the ground.

I strayed into a
memory of a memory
that refused to be erased
I was in a place not unknown,
just unremembered
I was here…