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Recollections
by
Ehsan Elahi Ehsan
There is a sort of recollection
Which comes to man creeping
When it finds him all alone
And shows him again
What kinds of beautiful moments
And what shining pearls it has
Into its lap which displays
With all its artistry and skill
And then it takes him
To the streets of love
And putting him on its shoulder
Takes him to its own dream land
With all loving passions
And caressing hands
It makes him forget
All the bitter realities of life
And when it departs
It gives him a new message
Full of hope and courage
And inspires him to live boldly
To drink the bitterness of time
Taking it an ingredient of life
It teaches him how to sew
All the wounds he has received
It teaches him to enjoy the nearness
Of the people around him
And instigates him to burn
In the farness of the gone-by friends
It teaches him that he has to accept life
As it is!
We call such a recollection
The recollection of the past
When it departs
It endevours to refresh those pictures
That are faintly staying on the curtain
Of our sad eyes, with so many colours
And with such a dexterity
That all those faint pictures are renewed
And vividly seen by us again
There is another kind of recollection
Which shows its presence
In the thickly woven gathering
In noisy meeting of multitudes
In a very crowded an busy room
In such a mob, it finds a person
Of her own choice and then
It makes him to rise from there
It takes him to a silent corner of the room
It strings such thoughts into his mind
As a newly married bride
While sitting on her wedding bed
Tries to pick out silently all those thorns
That time had pierced into her heart
And then, before this man
A chain of the frightening rocks appears
And in such bewilderment he feels
That there is not a single person
In the whole populated world
In all the multitudes and clustered meetings
Whom he can call his own
In this silent corner of the room
Placing his head on his knees
He begins to remember
All the departed persons
And all the lovely places
And all the beautiful moments
He begins to fumble
In the casements of his eyes
In the same manner as
A blind man tries to see some shadow
In the deep and vast darkness
Then in such a loneliness
He begins to think of writing
An elegy in their memory
In this crowded gathering
Where people are chatting and enjoying
He does not find any company
And a boring loneliness begins to sting him
This is another sort of recollection he has!
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