I had the glimpse of
a few pages
in your book that’s
rotten since ages
never crumbled
through the passage of time…
The pages- where
you penned all your pains,
your gains,
your failures,
your triumphs,
that i could never
imagine in my dreams
you cheer us there,
you care,
with that gentle
smile
You wrote about
The simple pleasures of life-
the sparrows'
chirp, the calf's
call from the
backyard,
and about the murky
kitchen walls
where you spent
your entire life…
Often i wonder,
whether you still live on…
through the magnetic
words in your book…
The ink still fresh,
Through my mind
my memories gush,
unabated,
from this innocent
heart of mine…
