Pul ka Itihaas (History of a Bridge)

I journeyed to a distant land,
changed planes three times,
took advantage of the fine weather
to travel those winding mountain roads,
arrived at the bridge just as the sun was setting.

Across this bridge, four centuries ago, passed
the lovers, idlers, rebels, conquerors of history.

By the twentieth century, they'd turned into characters in a
novel,
modern armies on the march,
with drums and aims constantly changing.

In the fading daylight I took a snapshot.

Returning home by the same circuitous route,
suddenly I realized the camera hadn't been loaded.

Now I've a mental image of that bridge
with myself dodging cars that hoot at me,
as I stand there with camera in hand.