Making a quiet ripple, they appear within me with differences in appearance. Some hover around me like strange clouds, others surface like a meadow of daisies. Memories… I am talking about memories. They are the insiders-outsiders, with an ability to follow me. I observe them – they can sometimes emerge as facets of flashes. In a notable way, they also give evidence to me of their permanence and impermanence. They are like dreams within dreams – reminders of my erstwhile fully fledged remembrances; some of the mirror images are pensive, others matching a subtle spirit of contemplation.
Ah! Memories. The thing about their make-up is that they can remain still or dormant, and then in a trice mould their substance into significant reflections. I feel they allow me to revise, assimilate, restore the time, its moments that have gone by. The influence of their totality can move me with so much intensity that in no time I can paint a whole scene on my mind’s canvas. The portals of my memory-lane are stacked with many sequences of record – which transform to ready-made pattern of my verse.
From the book: No Journey Ends by Geeta Chhabra
Geeta Chhabra
