The Soaked Rotty Pieces

These Lengthy nights of winter
Like a bird
which sings in the drizzle
Won’t sleep without
the warmth of your memories.
The heart where I hold
Your pose which was
Twenty years old
Still moist…

Evening sunlit
wafting from the
kitchen window.
Wooden stool
At the corner of the wall.
And you
with your cup of tea
And a few pieces of “rotty.”
dipped them in the tea
“My mom loves this”
You smiled with
effortless ease.

Untold stories

But
no time to look over
the reminisces of the past.

Even nobody
knows
the colour you like
but
You know most of them
Don’t like the colour of you..

There were days
your chappels sound echos
Between the entrance
and veranda
You used to wait. -and
last to dine.

How did you
tolerate the
annoyances around?
Have you left it within a silent melody?
Or else have you wept silently?

I regret yet
Why couldn’t I be your
voice once?
My remorse
is like snow in the roof ridge
freezing and thawing
Eternally.