The house was nothing extra ordinary
There were no sprawling estates
Or guarded by jealous liveried man servants
There was a column of steep, moss colored stairs
Fighting hearts to escape
And memories of books words and whatnot
Against my fingertips
Throbbing breathing memories
So much love for a great man
The stairs are over
The heart has flown
And the footsteps pass a tiny green swing
A young Garhwal boy smiles his welcome
And waves me in
No Introductions
I see him in his red cane chair
Under the brass lamps
Beneath the lace curtains
And the books
They are a million
A billion
A trillion
His face lights up as I draw nearer
An ancient frameless face
A careless wave of the hand
As he sips from his coffee cup
I look at history
As I ask – Mr Bond?
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