The sun set on another evening of May,
They played with their toys all day,
They couldn’t have known, they didn’t,
Their grandmother was no more, and they had no hint
One was seven, and the other five
Their mother thought, they were too naïve,
To comprehend this invariable cycle of life,
A man’s destiny, which God, Himself writes
The father thought, they ought to know
The curiosity in their young minds would only grow
The kids cherished her presence, they loved her dearly
She would remain etched in their memory…
The five-year-old tugged her mother’s white sari
And asked, “Where is she, where is dadi?”
The other sat on his father’s lap and looked up at his face
He wondered why his father’s eyes never met his gaze…
The two, old, sullen eyes met each other
How would they tell them about the beloved grandmother?
They stood there still, tongue tied,
How were they to tell them that she had died?
This one is still untitled, I just can’t name it. Suggestions are welcome.
Not for reproduction.