Sometimes in corners of the rooms and verandas in my home,
Where I now return at intervals, I see a child.
I see him running freely in a playful frenzy or contemplatively drawing,
Choosing colours to decorate his tall, germinate visions.
Often pulling his grandmother’s sagging cheeks;
And bursting out in laughter, or scribbling some motifs,
That till today remain, but are fading on the ageing walls.
The dust I see on old books lying secretively in empty, echoing rooms,
Brings back to me the wisdom that an early, warped mind acquired.
The Knowledge bigger than its own age or time;
The knowledge of Love and abandon, he unknowingly instilled,
By himself in motifs, words and touch of those who are no more.
When I see that child looking through the haze at me, I shiver.
Frailly, I stand repeating the repentance in my mind like numbers,
Reminiscing with guilt in a capricious vortex that emerges,
Between a failing time and a circular distance.
Nainy Verma| PGDM 2017-19