Every homecoming is a nomad’s offerings for forgiveness, A silent prayer, An apology for neglecting the roots, that have borne him. Two lovely yet lonely souls, leaning on each other Still, on their own worlds, Slowly move around and do chores which may Soothe the wanderer and make him stay awhile. While one dusts up those books he himself has paid for The other rakes up the old CDs She once despised for the violent and jarring crescendos. Little does she know That he has come a full circle and now has no ears for them And grown weary of those feel good titles Papa used to bring home. Here everything stays still. The lady in the house fondly referred to as ant Still keeps the dog eared jottings sent by her dearies It’s her way of saying That we are with her always.
She says, our entire growing phase is there Right in front of her, like it has happened just yesterday. The last time she was home, my sister Fished out a handbook, mom still keeps and Was smiling through tears While telling me of some notes she had stumbled on. Looking back, now I wonder, Must be on her wedding eve that We have last cried together like that And yet felt so happy!
It was a beautiful day after the storm. Fever was rising in branches. Severed moons on road started listening to explosive-laden snow. I went for the jugular. Why poisoned goats were set free for the cougars? Existence was a positive
Fathers are trees whose roots are so deep and strong that we cling to them for ever Eventually we get lost into them that gives a different pleasure Now when my father has gone far away from me desire of
Twisted roots that pattern themselves in soil, are like hidden truths that always come to light. Slowly taking root in darkness, creeping ….growing towards the light. The web of deception and flowers of thorns that grow, destroy the trust of
You know I do not hope any intermission, between life and death. My path goes nowhere. A hiatus between the mirrors has questions. From childhood I was always floating between the meanings of lessons unknown. I longed for straight humilities.
Unrequited love is heartache Was what an eight year old had Taken home and told his mom While quizzed about the movie He had gone along with his elder cousins Being the best friend she was and Always been, clasped