Souvenir

By GV Ashmitha

I watch as he stands,

Breeze brushing the fine strands of his hair,

And the sun shying away from 

The light in his eyes.

He watches blandly as his admirer

His devotee, walks past

But then his gaze wanders over 

To me, at which 

His cold mask goes slack,

Erasing the never-existing doubts,

And gifts me a godly smile,

Oh lord.

Now maybe he is someone else's,

But his soul,

Separated by distance,

Is always mine.

His memory in my heart,

His baritone ringing in my ears,

Became the souvenir,

Of love.

By GV Ashmitha