1.
What
escapes memory grows older. I find myself coming to the same places.
Losing my way at the wrong doors. Strangers who understand let me in.
They teach me words, train me in remembrance. I forget nonetheless.
What
is forgetting but to remember the same things over and over?

2.
Birds when quiet are an evening.
They fly from one end to the other, speaking in syllables I don’t
understand. When I ask the strangers to teach me this language, they
enquire about my last memory.

All I have is an old, rusted
photograph for memory and I do not know what to say anymore. What
could I, possibly?

Trivarna Hariharan
11 03 16