nostalgia – Mihir Kamat

If pictures could talk,
They could write an epic,
Or recite a symphony,
Like no other.

I hope they’d talk
About the day that we met,
Of the chemistry as we looked
Into each other’s eyes,
Or of watching us laugh like no tomorrow.

How we danced in the rain,
Like toddlers without a care in the world,
Without worries of tomorrow
And what it might hold.

They might speak of
The day I fell in love
With your smile as you
Sipped on warm chocolate milk
On a white snowy day.

They might try to encapsulate
How I felt
As you held my hand,
Afraid to cross the street
One more time,
Knowing that the hand
That provided you comfort
Was mine.

I glance as the light
Hits your smile
A pretty picture,
You and I,
As we come close,
Head to head,
Smile to capture a memory.

Some that we intended
To make, and some
That God intended for us to have.

If pictures could talk,
They could write an epic,
Or recite a symphony,
Like no other.

Remembering the good times.

The first ray of morning sunlight creeps into the room through dusty window panes, fragmenting the light that it allows to pass. The floorboards are rickety, with the eerie creaks getting louder as a furry rodent scurries lightly across the hallway. The fresh smell of varnish on the oak sideboard heightens the senses, and plays with my sense of smell. Browns, blacks, and grays; the colors of time gone by surround me, and as I pass them by, I am hit by a weird sense of nostalgia.

It’s six a.m., and the kitchen is filled with musty smells and I get a putrid hit of food rotting in the dustbin. I see a chubby rat feasting on the remains of last night’s meal, which almost feels like a grand spread for the little critter. It’s still dark outside; I throw a light switch to illuminate the room, revealing the mess of dishes strewn across the sink. I’ll deal with those later, I decide, for I had important things to tackle first.

The pot of coffee lies neglected in the file cabinet, where I’d put it after brewing my morning cup yesterday. I take it in my hands, inspect it, and verify that it is clean to my liking. I fill it up to the brim with tap water, place it gently on the stove and turn on the heat. I rub my eyes as I watch the water, calm at first but slowly disturbed as the slow heat does its thing. The water simmers over the flame, carefully and wishfully, as if it was trying to savor every moment it was on the stove. The calm soon ends as the water comes to a feverish boil. It’s time to put in the coffee, I think to myself, as I scoop a generous helping of the brown powder into the pot of boiling liquid. The smell wafts, and teases my nostrils as I add in the sugar and milk. My body feels wide awake, and my senses are whet by the sweet smell of my coffee. I feast on the visual grandeur that is my cup – the milky brown elixir now topped with a dollop of cream swirling on top of its surface. I indulge my taste buds as I sip on the magical concoction, feel the warm and bitter tinge at the back of my tongue, savoring the mild sweetness and gentle creaminess of its additives.

I realize that the greatest joys in life could be really simple. I’m now ready to tackle whatever life throws at me today.

Inspired by this week’s writing challenge.

Tag: nostalgia

Good times

Sipping coffee