Memory Re-created

On a sunny day
After the rains cleaned the streets,
the strays came and licked my 
fingers clean.

Monsoon

Someone knocked.

Early morning at Howrah Station.

Dewdrops still basking

in the solitude of the lone train.

Where is my father?

Am I to take his place?

Grey platform, still unscathed by the footsteps

of others.

 

We left with grey clouds 

hovering above.

We reached a wet sidewalk

where my father waved

hello.

 

The car sputtered to an awkward silence.

We

sat

without stories

to recount.

Summer was over.