By: Tasneem. S. Pocketwala

What if we could capture time? Like

A moment of Being
Apprehended
In a photograph.

My hand pulsates to hold time.

***

I keep my pen down, now.
There, rests ‘Sons and Lovers’.
I pick it up, open
The half-finished book; last read two years ago
In summer,
One hot humid
Dizzy day.

The pages stretch out, as if awoken –
A bookmark, worn at the bulging edges –
The pages reek of summer air
From when I had them closed.