Flashing Memories

By Vedashree B N

We look up at the sky and beg for moments. We call them memories.

The streets with gray patches, 

the corners with creamy houses. 

The gardens the gates,

the blinking vehicles.

Why do they come back? Do they need us?

Do we want them? You're running.

They remind you of your crawling. 

You're crying.

They rant the story of how hard you laughed once,

The same tears, the skin tasted.

How are they created?

You see a bird. You pass by. 

But the bird can fly.

It flies over your head,

flaps its wings into your brain. 

Glides past the convolution.

The blood trails of its tail.

The bird closes its wings. 

Sits among the crowd 

The crowd of your mind.

You're thinking of what to paint tonight. 

The bird chirps.

You hear it. You've seen it. You paint it. 

The bird is set free.

By Vedashree B N