It’s in the smell of wet earth
That carries me across time and space
To a thatched house in the field
Where a gentle wind caresses my face
It’s in the temple noises, welcome and divine
The bells and chants of people and priests
Grandma’s white saree smelling of sunshine
Her benign countenance making believers of atheists
It’s in the torrential downpour of this unknown city
That reminds me of the boat that ferried me home
To the wrinkled arms of the old lady with expectant eyes
Across the angry waters of the swollen river
It’s in the smell of dried roses on the window sill
In the rustling of paper and scribbling of quills
It’s in the quiet of the night and trilling of notes
In the break of dawn on a lonely walk on the shore
In whispers of voices lost to time, or the world
In footsteps of feet that no longer tread
It’s a bitter-sweet feeling
Like the last tear of a healing heart
Nostalgia, folks, is a bouquet of emotions.
Image courtesy:”https://a2ua.com/nostalgia.html”
