FranKophone

I once wished my room had a window. I could watch the world pass by. Like bougainvillea flowers merrily drifting in the winds. Fragrance of love wafting in the air. The street lamps glowing yellow. Hawkers selling their goods. The new mall flinging its neon lights unto the streets. The crazy young crowds. Random children chuckling as they walk. Bike competitions. The busy bees. The old, abandoned and helpless. The madman calling names. The rains. Gods visiting homes while playing with colours. The police patrols. The riots. Someone could shatter my window panes. So I loathe windows. Broken windows are painful. Pic Courtesy:Google

I cannot remember my mother, only sometime in the midst of my play a tune seems to hover over my playthings, the tune of some song that she used to hum while rocking my cradle. I cannot remember my mother but when in the early autumn morning the smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air, the scent of the morning service in the temple comes to me as the scent of my mother. I cannot remember my mother only when from bedroom window I send my eyes into the blue of the distant sky, I feel that the stillness of my mother's gaze on my face has spread all over the sky. ~Rabindranath Tagore Note : This was one of  the earliest poems I read,loved and cherished. 

I’ll know its “You” when- You see my unshed tears.. You understand my silence… You make me smile anyhow… You read the pain in my eyes… You take me to the world of bliss… You hold my hand in adversity… And some odd day, Be lost in the cold mists !