By Mohul Bhowmick
Soon, there will be nothing left to see.
One drop in the ocean - my imagination -
Walking past shards of disjointed memory
May kindle a profane, unkindly creation.
You meant more to me than I ever said;
Approving lesser still of what lay ahead.
Since you never asked for black and white,
Our paths may have crossed to some extent.
Well, you seem unobsessed. If you ever fight
My memories, unjaded and thus unspent,
Your voice will not crack. You'll choose to see
All my flaws for loving you unconditionally.
Seeing you then, I broke down in tears.
Opportunity knocked, as if in a dream.
What could I do? Despite the safety of years,
My mind still aches when rushing upstream.
Your memories come back to me, unasked.
And I find myself traversing to the past.
Mohul Bhowmick is a national-level cricketer, sports journalist, poet, essayist and travel writer from Hyderabad, India. He has published five collections of poems and one travelogue so far. His latest book, The Past Is Another Country, came out in 2025. More of his work can be discovered on his website: www.mohulbhowmick.com.
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