Of never perishing..

And yet again,

Let them roam around among clinging echoes,

Of blissful chatters and passionate whispers,

Of red bricks site and colonial times.

Never in me arose a sensation of talking ghosts, 

Who come to me through those peek holes



Those who come with a sigh:

Never realized that I was,

Being made a part,

For someone in fifties of ages to come,

To listen to the Court of a glorious past,

perhaps with an awestruck sigh.




Maybe they are still there,

Among histories of thin air,

That touches my face gently,

Telling me stories of Death,

That never came to them...

Of perishing with time,

That never came to me.