Yesterday Night,
Ruffling through some old notebooks,
Looking for a recipe,
To cook a special kind of rice,
My grandmother once taught me,
I found –
A photograph
of us.
Slightly folded on the edges,
A little faded,
Yet eternal.
A photograph,
of me and her,
Of a day,
quite old,
and as rusted,
As the long ago memories.
For that one moment,
when even time had to stop,
Before the new flashing camera,
That Papa had brought from Bombay.
Flash- and we were frozen,
In time and in space,
In that frame.
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