Mamta Agarwal (March 27,1951 / India)

The memories
Of the quaint retreat
Nestled in the hills,

After our wedding.
Bemused
I reflect,
How twenty years
Have fled.

Seated next,
A newly wed
Hand in hand
Slept,
Bride bedecked.

Her head
Slowly slipped
To rest
On her husband’s chest.

A half smile
On her lips.
Like us
On their way
To the hills.

The train
Picked up speed
To take
Us to our destination:
Kalka station.

Is theirs
An arranged
Marriage?

Perhaps like us,
They are
Getting away
To get better
Acquainted,
In privacy
Away
From
Intruding relatives

With light banter
Holding hands,
Together we glance
At our unaware
Co passengers.

I know,
He knows
What I am thinking.
He holds my hand
And caresses
Me with his eyes,
Moist with
Tenderness.