He seemed at peace all day long.
A vibrant red hat he donned.
Radio on with his old songs-
humming along though withdrawn.
But if he heard you nearby
he would wake up from his spell.
And before you could say hi-
he would ask if all was well.
Now I greet him from down here.
But I know he smiles and hears.
Today I broke a teapot.
And I thought it had nine lives.
My restless hands failed to spot
the pot right before my eyes.
I stared at it with long sighs.
Both of us in fragile state.
Almost tempted to tell lies
for I could not bear the weight.
But I gave in to my guilt.
That is how courage is built.
She teaches me with her eyes -
makes them see what I do not.
My rigid thoughts she unties,
and jittery nerves unknots.
She shows me how to relax-
to fret not about small stuff.
There is nothing that I lack
for her smile is just enough.
Her soul in every feature.
She is my daughter-teacher.
When heat and dust clogged my face.
And the sweat poured from the pores.
I would then thirstily gaze
at her window and implore.
As always she would be there-
a glass of water in hand.
Her smile showed how much she cared
for me and my restless band.
Now closed is her kitchen door.
Our thirst will be quenched no more.
Why to your nemesis yield?-
and run all helter skelter.
Your transparent comfort-shield
is but a fragile shelter.
The nemesis boomerangs.
And returns with a new face.
It once again draws fear pangs-
an ever-occurring phase.
Let not this farce pretender
be your prowling tormentor.
A square wooden battleground is all set.
The queen sits in the centre of the field.
The warriors are itching to cast their nets.
But nine black and nine white knights stand as shields.
The spear strikes at the heart of the uprise -
dispersing the knights all over the ground.
Some knights are pocketed as a grand prize.
But some still to the royal queen surround.
Turn by turn the warriors strike with skill-
forever in pursuit of the red queen.
The knights slide and tumble and pockets fill.
And once again the field is powder-cleaned.
The night is young, the warriors sip rum.
The lightbulb hangs to heat up the carrom.
Her eighty candles sputtered
on the chocolate syrup.
Her wishes mutely uttered.
The birthday cake was lit up.
The knife in her restless wrist.
And eyes could no longer feign.
Tongue found it hard to resist.
She was one year old again.
Happy birthday mother dear.
I know you are somewhere near.
