Matt-finish, black and white
young man, child astride,
trousers flared, collar wide,
a grin adorned by pencil-line
The old man's favorite photograph
not for his child's memories
nor for youth he left behind
yet he stares and stares and cries
to see that faded photograph
the only one he misses most
the one who's missing in that pose
the one who cracked that silly joke
just before the flash and smoke
the one who clicked the photograph
the one who passed on to the ghosts
-Amit
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Awww! All your poems have this mysteriousness, so delightful to read!
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