The Measure Of Contentment

I looked at him,
He was the measure of my contentment;
He appeared dirty and tired.
Something strange had happened,
He did not tell me,
I did not ask.
I took hold of his left arm
And drew him to a chair;
He looked at me,
Grasped my wrists to draw me close
And then inquiringly said -
‘I do not see scars etched on your soul;
There are no scars reflected in your eyes
And your eyes are dry.'
In response I said -
‘I have shed my memory
Memories are painful;
I have no recollection of the past;
I do not even know you.'
Thereupon, his eyes brightened,
I could detect irony and a hidden tease;
He was glad not to be part of my thoughts.
I wondered
Despite the loss of memory, I had recognized him
And seen him dirty and tired.

by Ravinder Kumar Soni

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