Saturday, May 13, 2006


Come back, come home.
Return to this broken heart
'Tis not your time yet.

I awed you, my Chachan
Like an old song, not God would replace
You float in my memories, hazily.

Just to lay these tear filled eyes
On you
Anything, would I stake
Just come back.

I see you in me,
I see your energy in everyone here.
I see your smile frozen in a picture
A time when we laughed together.

Cheating time, if we didn't part
If I were your little mol again;
We'd watch the fields, as the sun set.

Photographs can never do justice;
Swinging on your lungi
Sitting upon strong shoulders
Looking into those wise eyes;
Pictures are worthless.

Embrace me in those wrinkled arms
As your final goodbye
I miss you too much.

Chachan : father
Mol : daughter (pronounce "mole")
Lungi : Long coloured cloth used by indian men as clothing to wrap around the waist. (pronounce "loon-gee")

1 comment:

nitye said...

I really liked this one...
and it also made me feel a little sad...


when language like bubbling streams flow

when words are laid down to fit like lovers' hands

when you feel the essence of the poet from within

when swirling thoughts are caught in the net of rhythm

when images reel as you read

when pen and paper create a symphony

then, it is poetry