A Flower in Grandpa's Garden

I haven't been to my Granpa's

No remembrance since when

Love for him hasn't altered

Reverence has been manifold

But, I don't wanna go there.

I can still see his bald head

Glistening with sweat while-

He bends over some sapling or twig

In the garden around a mile.

I needn't close my eyes

To see him alone, working

Over some Veda, Upanishad or Geeta

Or some distant foreign epic.

At three score five, he began

His literary-educational journey alone

He said, " No age for learning

Nor for exploring on an intellectual voyage. "

The last I saw him--

He was happy, complete and peaceful

Grandchildren around

Laughing and giggling.

They say he was in pain

While leaving us forever

They say he wanted me

Before we be together- never.

All I say, I never said goodbye

And maybe that's why -

I don't like going there

I don't like the house

Sans my grandfather.

Tis no more a home.

Tis no more a welcome.

There is no one to care for

The flowers I grew up with.

My heart breaks to see

A garden so disheveled;

My voice shivers to say

The Home' s destiny destructed.

The pain I feel to think

Of the empty chair,

The burden of Emptiness

The missing old books' air.

Tis beyond toleration

To think of such situation.

I love to think of grandpa-

That he is still there;

Listening to classics

Reading the classics,

Nurturing the flowers.

I fancy myself -

A flower in his Garden

Looking at him through the window-

A moistened head bent over some voluminous book.