The Photograph

A special one I tugged in the sepia pages of my diary,

It's an alley to my heart's covert chamber

An intoxicating longing I've always treasured to visit recurrently

Reckoning those dulcet moments of affinity that I muse and still remember. 

I have locked some invaluable chapters of my childhood in open pages of the album,

Achromic photographs of bygone moments give the license to explore.

Those that can't be reproduced or delivered,

Only their images create austere and blazing poetry in leisure to adore. 

Some are arrayed on the private wall of my bedroom,

They are the witness to the onset of a new episode with a stranger.

To whom I was tied in alliance to traverse the undulating terrain together,

And those unprecedented moments when I stepped the threshold of being a mother. 

Their presence is like fumigated graffiti that captures conspicuous times,

What remains unsaid, images become the medium of intuition and conjunction.

Time flies and swifts the instances in its tide, 

But we relive the preceded hours in them with a smile of impregnation.