She collects memories,
Proclaimed CK one day,
Pointing to my propped up phone,
And I acknowledged his observation
Smiling and nodding;
My photographs aren't displays
Of mundane days, I declare,
But unique frames
That I wish to retain
In my head, unblemished.
One perfect frame
For one perfect memory.
I gather them all with precision -
Kinship, friendship,
Nature, beauty,
Joy, laughter
And moments of poignancy -
One click at a time.
But somehow, it seems,
Moments with you
Do not fit in those brackets.
My camera stays idle
In your presence.
I wonder why.
Might it be
That the colours you evoke
Are too vivid to be captured
With a lowly lens,
Or too immense to be held captive
Within the confines
Of a five inch screen?
Maybe.
You once told me that no camera
Compares to the eminence
Of the human eye;
I argued otherwise,
Haughty in my stand.
But today you make me accept a begrudging defeat,
As I watch the way you burn far too bright,
All day.
Aflame, alive, ablaze;
Glowing with the light of a million dreams,
And yet adrift,
Amidst soft notes of melancholy.
I think of how right you were,
All day, watching you burn too bright
For my frames;
And as you walk away,
Proceed instead
To hold you captive
In the depth of my eyes.
Serendipitous Rambling 