These pictures are all I have,
To remind me of the time,
When the birds used to sing,
It's cold now and I have a conjecture,
That the birds have fled south.
It couldn't be otherwise,
That I feel so alone at times,
That I feel joy only looking at still images.
It couldn't be that I sit staring at grey,
Trying to extract the black and the white.
But I have both with me now,
And I sate myself knowing one thing,
That time is circular,
And the pictures will live their lives again.


PS: A long hiatus.....I feel 'quite' free again