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!