Memories

The bright bloom of cypress vine
climbs the husk’s forgotten loft.
A chest whispers of coffee
bittersweet, like twin hearts adrift in sky.

Disconsolate, I arrived at Limehouse,
moon of Himadri resting in my palm.
Rotherhithe calls from beneath the tunnel,
leaping toward the shimmer of fish and firmament,
then an immense garden of earthbound lotus.

Half-memory, half-history,
drifting in the hush of nostalgia
under the sky of Falgun.

(Falgun, the eleventh month of the Bangla calendar)