NEAR PAST Dust on the table was telling, A storm of yore In the glen of breaths, With duster I took to clean When wrinkles on bedsheet, give illusion of a shadow, Two cups lying to wash At a time were hot with sips Of ardent lips Left only a few prints, On bathroom floor, soaps Cases and mugs to keep them back to a place They belong It was little ago, I felt enough Contented?? If there is anything like enough Only in myths Body and the soul questing Every now and than For echo of the past Again, again, again ©Hardeep Sabharwal