Your own

I still remember the days we had together when young,
A complete lack of care and responsibility,
supplemented by the sheer will to have fun!
The tears we shed and the little tiffs we had,
The bear hugs and the kisses that followed - the panacea at hand.

Time and changed circumstances
have brought in a thousand miles between us.
But we keep holding on to the common strands
of love, of friendship, of kindness, of care,
and of the certainty that we would be there for each other
even when the world has seemingly turned bad!

We have in us the belief, that the closeness
we’ve shared and felt with each other,
would not spiral to the physical distance that has us apart.
This belief and hope keep us going.

Hope

I remember knocking on this door once
waiting outside for an acknowledgement
which was not to be received.

That day I had left with some hope.
Was wondering ‘when would this
dogs day be?’ ;
That day I believed that there would
surely be – as they say – a Sunday.

Today I am standing in front of the same wooden door.
Facing the closed door,
gives me the shivers I had then.
Acknowledgement or not, I am knocking.

The latter scenario
would not leave me with any hope.

Childhood

I was travelling back from work one evening.
A couple with their little child happened
to sit beside me.
The girl was crying over some petty issue.
Her parents kept trying hard to console her.

How much I wished I could tell her
to make the most of these years,
when she is with her parents.

I may be older then her, but not old enough.

It is true when people say that we value
things more when we do not have them
in our vicinity; this as exactly what I felt.

In a few more years, even this little girl,
then grown up, may travel in a bus,
and feel the same, seeing some child cry.

It would be late by them to make changes.
She can try to change the present,
If only I could tell her.

She may be too young to comprehend all this.

Motherly love

I was young, somewhere in the fourth or
fifth year in school
I returned from school one day
not feeling very well.
I kept sitting on the sofa,
then on the bed;
this continued for some time.
Seeing me sit on the sofa,
my mother came to me.
She touched my forehead with her palm
to check for running temperature.
Her guess proved to be right,
I was having fever.
I hadn’t mentioned about the ill-feeling
to her, but she could read it.
Some days after I had recuperated,
I asked her how she had found it out.
She replied that since I wasn’t
the chirpy me that day,
she knew something was wrong.
Is there any reason for
love to be sought by a being?