NEW DELHI 26TH SEPT. 2025

THE PARCHMENT

Lustrous black turned grey
The inescapable gift of Time

Decades have passed
With each day a record
Of dreams, hopes, joys and sorrows

They were strangers yet sensed
They had known each other before
And now was only a continuum.

With each decade the pages aged
And today lie bound like all parchments
In Memories folded covers

But wrinkled parchment pages
Never really close
And one lays lightly on the other
Peeking out at the oddest of times.

Juxtaposing  the past and present
And sustaining  me.