Poetry and you

If poetry is my child
then you are the mother
of my thoughts.

She wanders room to room
searching for that warmth
which you kept somewhere.

Often she asks me -
"For what did she leave us?"
And I always say -
"She is walking in her sky
gathering all the stars
to fill in your eyes "

At nights when she mumbles,
I move my hands
over her forehead and wish
that you turn your back,
atleast in dreams,
if she is calling you.

I want her to grow
and understand things.
It gets difficult to act
in front of innocent
and say - "Do not cry,
raining nights
make stars go blind"

Many times, I thought to tell her
that you are no longer in our world
and wanted to kill her
like myself.

But isn't a hopeful child
better than a devastated one?

So I shall keep taking her
to every place
where your voice still echo,
clothing her nicely,
putting on long earrings,
as people frequently say
that she looks beautiful
just like you.

And I silently pray god
for her to have
your heart, your feelings too,
but not mine
as they must be lacking something.


Sim