Reflections of the past,
Hovering over me,
A small girl playing in the field,
Hands in soil red and brown,
I think of those days, but with a frown.
The water falling on the roofs,
Empty, wet house of silence,
A beauty in itself carrying along,
The pitter patter of the drops,
Melting my heart.
They eyes of benevolence,
The courage of the century,
The portrait on the wall,
Signifying great leadership.
Mulling thoughts over a large cup of coffee,
Lurking eyes in that pond of life,
Falling enough with those light blue eyes,
Its only when I think about your life,
Leaves falling, wet and green,
Dark are those corners,
Of this huge haveli.
Sometimes are those reflections,
Of the youth and childhood,
Some are the reflections of great pain and desire,
Some are the reflections of that zeal,
Some are the reflections of the lonely old days.
I confuse those reflections with something that I know,
But then I found out,
It’s only this piece of beauty that remains,
And it’s these reflections...