summer burns

Nostalgia is a strange feeling
Being as it is –
The dampness of cockroach shit
And pages eaten at the edges
A few letters gone missing
And the dark brown spots at the spine
Of a yet-unopened book;

Being as it is
The reach of shadows
Through the window mesh
On a night spread out on a bamboo mat
Lived out in white clad souls
Of hairpin curves.

Nostalgia is a strange feeling
Cracking in, as they are,
As an afternoon of unfinished sights.

A lone sweat drop, a burning eye