The eyes have moistened; for months
And years too shall pass; will pass
Without a shot of the red ball into the glass pane;
Evenings have now become darker
No more quarrels would awaken
Any of the wind chimes
Every morning; sun would embark for sure
But the young lad will not cry
To his Ammi to miss the school that day
No more hurrying up anticipating
The school bus that is still miles away
Bus too, shall pass without a halt
At their gateway
As Ammi still waits for her child
To get back from the school
Which he left for last year
On that winter morning
Waving till his mother was out of sight
Forever!
His Abbu still doesn’t gasp the smell
Of the book; the young lad had marked with
A pencil he had bought the previous evening;
To read his lines of the little red riding hood
And pleaded “I want to mark the lines red, Abbu”
They were marked red the very next evening
Not with a sketch color;
They were soaked with innocent blood
Of the young lad
The blood stains have been wiped off
The shirt is now ready;
To be worn upon
But just perhaps the shirt
Doesn’t match the outfit of a soldier;
It has been wrapped up
And is treasured in the broken wooden cupboard
Forever!
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