Remembering an Old Friend

How easily I got busy

to forget small things that were dear to me

when the mind & heart were innocent!!!

I slipped my hands off

from those who held us together as a ring of roses...

those days we sang ringa ringa roses.

I became indifferent to the sound of rain

dripping from the window pane,

which used to turn me euphoric at nights.

I stopped gazing at the clouds

which gave me my creativity

of forming everything from nothing.

I became deaf to the hawker who sold cotton candy,

I used to appease my taste buds free of cost...

later in the day, getting sweet scolding from dad for buying them on credit.

I no more walk down the street in a cold new year's dawn,

face covered with mother's hand woven muffler,

to drop a hand-painted greeting card at a friend's door.

I no more wait for anybody to drop one at my door either...

I see now, an old friend

still waiting at my door,

giving a hope that "There is time, Come Back"...

It seems my friend waited quite long,

with rusted hands wide open

gone too weak and now hanging at the mercy of wind...

My Mail Box

Copyright © 2017 by Oliva Rath. All rights reserved. This material cannot be copied and reproduced in any form without permission.