I do not ask for youth, nor for delay in the rising of time’s irreversible river that takes the jewelled arc of the waterfall in which I glimpse, minute by glinting minute, all that I have and all I am always losing as sunlight lights each drop fast, fast falling.
I do not dream that you, young again, might come to me darkly in love’s green darkness where the dust of the bracken spices the air moss, crushed, gives out an astringent sweetness and water holds our reflections motionless, as if for ever.
It is enough now to come into a room and find the kindness we have for each other — calling it love — in eyes that are shrewd but trustful still, face chastened by years of careful judgement; to sit in the afternoons in mild conversation, without nostalgia.
But when you leave me, with your jauntiness sinewed by resolution more than strength — suddenly then I love you with a quick intensity, remembering that water, however luminous and grand, falls fast and only once to the dark pool below.
A wooden bowl full of blue and red berries, fresh from the bushes beside the roads, washed of petrol stains. Take it: love with reason, their eyes say, therefore hope, without reserve. Take the gift, accept the reason, lever our hearts over the barricade with an explanation.
The children stare wide eyed at the strangers and smile for ever. The day moulded out of light, the mutual seed, springs open in time it costs nothing but persistence. A linking gesture across the border holds the ring dance open to the hearth, where the old ones sit.
Wisps of blue smoke rise from the houses into the distance. The true moment moves among us, everyone’s work as it works everyone’s fault as it fails, held in the song’s return, a hope balanced on a point of flesh against fate’s gerrymandering, everyone’s wish in your tear ever shining
And stabled there. Politicians and clouds brush the fine heads of the children turned upwards; a laugh, short and light, rolls down the land, a reasoned hope in which they turn in the dance, hand on sleeve: Welcome welcome, bird in the bush, fish in the flood, futureless presence ringing the earth.
I can’t tell you Why I loved him or What it meant. When you Are a child, you know only The kind of love your little Life lacked, so every Blooming flower is a field. What I know Is that there were two skies And under one, I was a shadow. His Sky was as blue as his eyes. Some Of that is my doing and the rest of it Is time. These days, he traces the shape of The curds above him and I lay out under A separate sun. Both of us are fine With this. We picked our place Under the lid of god and we shut Our eyes to it every night. That’s what it means To have loved goodly—to meet Fate in a lavender hall and walk Right past it, the white train quivering, Nostalgia in your wake.
Vacations are going on and I was sipping my coffee in the evening, thinking about how time has evolved. When we were small kids vacations used to be the best part and much awaited thing. Going to granny’s house was like a dream come true and preparations for us have started from the last time we visited her. She is the most serine beauty with pious love. Her love is like pixie dust sprinkled on me that always rejuvenate me. Visiting her was like no tension of the holiday’s homework, waking up late, tasty food served to you on silver platter and you are the crown bearers who are just ordering. Late night fairy tales were the best part, that time they used to be just stories but now the realization came they were filled with beautiful life lessons which had always guided us. I miss my Granny a lot. She was a mixture of a good parent, an efficient teacher and a true friend. The last word she uttered before resting in peace was my name. I used to have a great fight with her and we used to fight like cats and dogs. My mother was one who always came as a rescue force to help us be friends again when we both stop talking to each other. She was the one to rescue me from Dad’s scolding and always has a tantrum to play to help me convince my parents. Those hand knitted sweaters in the cozy winters remind me of her love and dedication which she poured in every strand she knitted. Few months before she got ill I was sitting by her side gazing her. The realization of the thought that she will be leaving me made my eyes weepy. Her wrinkled cheeks, loose skin, grey hair and stooping body made me nostalgic but the beauty with which she embraced this waning phase of life made me elated. Time is a great teacher and no one is able to escape from it so as my granny. Grandparents play a crucial role in the development of their grandchildren. They hold our hands for a while but our hearts, forever.They teach some valuable lessons which remain with us for the lifetime. They are the best guardians who know all the tricks and hacks to make us happy.They are the only ones who always have time for us and listen to our endless talks. They help in building a good character and ensure where ever we go, love and humbleness should be within us. They always make it sure that we grow up with good etiquette and moral values. Forgot to mention, they also become superman sometimes, as they are ready to fight with anyone who threatens us. Their love, motivation and dedication towards us ultimately make us a good citizen. In the nutshell, If nothing is going well, call your Granny.
That looks forward to talking to you That tells you to drive safe and text me when you’re home That wants to spoil you with attention That worries for/with/about you That gets jealous sometimes That will buy you shit just because I know you’d like it That pays attention to the little things That will go out of the way to do something for you - even if you don’t ask That will sit there while you play video games or play with you That won’t try to smother you That doesn’t need fancy or expensive things That just wants your company, effort, and affection That will pet the hell out of your dog
My future boyfriends are gonna get whiplash because one day I will smother you with texts and calls and affection and the next I won’t even want to think about talking to you.
Some people say it’s weird to kiss your parents on the lips, and that’s ok. To each their own.
Personally, I- and I won’t speak for everyone else, use it as a great form of non-verbal communication. For example, if they don’t use tongue, I know I’ve probably done something wrong.
