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The house is still there The mango tree andthe hibiscus flower The thick jack fruit tree on the front The slender drumstickhanging branches over the roof The book-selffilled with books On the tea-poy newspapers spread On the porchon a the wooden chair, you are sitting on Looking towards the sun Reading Bhavans Journals, Or the great Illustrated Weekly From whose pages Peeped the pictures of National and international figures The magazine has been closed Closed with its pages So many things The past had been hidden in its leaves The love, the war jealousy and anger, hatred and horror Passion and ecstasy In my memory. You still, there, In your chair Holdingthe book you love And I am looking at you.