Every memory has an attached smell.
From my pile of retention, I can state,
Every smell sleeps inside our subconscious, like an ornate.
And every street, lamppost and causeway has a story to tell.
The enamoring smell of her perfume.
The sedating smell of early morning diesel
The cold smell inside a dissecting room.
The prohibitionist smell of an anti-Christ novel
The stench of a thousand Chinese boxers.
The dry smell of chalk dust and Theory of Relativity.
The uplifting smell of Kill Devil with the Wright Brothers ‘Flyer’.
The smell of romanticists’ lipstick in a French train.
A thousand ‘forget-me-nots’ and the sinking Titanic.
The October Revolution and Stalin’s brain tonic.
The medieval smell inside Tutankhamen’s tomb.
The odorless disorder of the first atom bomb.
The jaded smell of Kennedy’s cold blood.
The murky smell of Wehrmacht bogged down in mud.
The electronic smell of Hendrix’s red wine.
The azure smell of Morrison’s pen, which would have been mine.
I remember very well, the smell of every autumn evening gone by.
The extra-terrestrial smell of UFO’s in the ozone sky.
Death comes to the body, not to the soul.
Every smell plays its role
In the quotidian play of morbid and farcical elements.
I was there, I was there.
I was there, everywhere.
From Noah’s Ark to the Wolf’s Lair.
Striding about from smell to smell.
And every smell has a story to tell.
Soumick Mukherjee is a class XII student of ISC Humanities, residing in Asansol, West Bengal, India. Among his interests are Literature, Music and Cinema.
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