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Ram Mehta

In the magical surroundings of
The Chimney Rock Mountains
My grandkids were enjoying ice creams.
The little one climbed over the table
With ice cream cone in his hand
Eating and showing to a young couple.

The woman was eating not the ice cream
But listlessly moving the spoon in her mouth
And the man was looking down to his back.

Did they come to confess to one another
Over the privacy of the ice cream?
Their past was flowing over the table,
Neither there was any sign of the rain
Nor the ice cream in the cup melted.

There was no conversation between the two,
But the chatter of waitresses at the urn
And echoed voices of the people
Climbing the last lap of the mountains.

Suddenly there was a gust of wind & shower
That forced them to go inside the restaurant
We show them hugging in a corner
And the ice cream melted on the table
And their present flowing over the table.

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