This place has a story hidden in its veins
In its every nook and corner...in its lanes...
Like that bench lonely now
Still carry the picture of two souls under that stretched bough...
Like the ice cream vendor nearby...
Selling sense of semiliquid sweet alibi
Of being present there a few days back
Two souls ...not then going through any slack
Of pulls working in them fine...
Of living seperately yet entwined...
Like that post box red at the kerb
Standing still bearing witness to the verve...
Of two souls celebrating life near it...
A sudden spurt of joy discoverably strong on the street...
Like that simple traffic post shed
Triangular white and blue and red...
Still carry perhaps the memory of an evening...
When rain lashing quick two people into it did bring...
Like so many other elements spread out
At this particular place...hold solid and stout
Memories of two specific people lost
In rains...summer...winter...and the frost...
The place...
It has a story embedded into its being...
Only for those who got eyes for the unseen...
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