A poem about memory

 How we live 

in memories, 

but not just our own!

How we languish

in forgetting, 

and in being forgotton, 

but not just in our own forgetting!

How we thrive

in each other's thoughts, 

how we grow 

in the gardens 

of each other's imagining! 

It feels almost surreal,

how one thing of beauty,

leads to another, 

how two lines 

of amature verse,

about a look of longing, 

cast on a rock, 

makes it come alive,

in so many minds, 

and in so many different forms! 

Like a picture 

somebody takes

while they're out

for their moning walk, 

and when you stumble upon it, 

you are reminded of 

so much inside you! 

So I saw this picture, 

and I thought, 

what is it 

that we really see?

Things?

or things seen through 

the filtered glass of memories?

Memories of the person, 

behind the camera, 

memories of my own, 

memories of the person in the picture, 

in how they dress, 

in how they look or seek to look, 

and in the clothes they wear, 

the ornaments, 

the tilak smeared on their forehead, 

the sweaty, tired, tense forehead, 

of a dark skinned boy,

singing on the streets,

his mother playing a dholak, 

walking besides him, 

barefeet, 

tired of all the years 

of walking,

begging,

singing, recalling, 

forgetting, 

beseeching ...

that and the collective memory of mankind!