Under the roof of my eyes
in the yard of life
gazing like an idol of some expectation
are a pair my little one's eyes.
I never have my fill of
looking into them.
Slumped on the cushion of love
mother's eyes with dregs of tiredness
above the folds of her face
are staring languidly at me.
I never get away from them.
In the yard of my heart
Papa sits cross legged
I am ever near him.
Adorning the gray part above her forehead
with the red of my life
she too is walking on
the pavement of love.*
I am watching this picturesque sight..
Amidst the flow of tender moments,
on the verandah of emotion,
there are elder sisters
younger sisters
elder brothers
younger brothers.
Reclining on the throne of kinship
built at a moment in time, immemorial