The Hands That Popped Out

I missed my grandpa,

He used to be that magical guy,

With endless stories,

To tell each day all along,

The guy with a stubborn voice,

With white beard all over faces,

Hair that locked in curls,

He used to sit in that rocking chair,

By our verandah,

Facing the roadside,

I loved him without any reason,

He had died a few months back,

I spent days weeping in my room,

For him to come back,

To hold be my by arm,

For those late evening walks,

Then we relocated our house,

I cried hugging onto those pillars,

To stay there in that house,

Things moved on and it changed,

It was that one night,

I heard someone calling out,

That voice seemed very familiar,

That husky voice with some determined words,

I could see his white dhoti,

And the gigantic round glasses of his,

I couldn't see any solid figure,

But an outline before me,

Before I could react,

Everything vanished before me,

Was one dream,

That was never-ending.