You do not get it how

the sun can be our mother,

You do not conjure to know

how I can be a rhymester.

And then comes the usual cry,

as anticipated from Mr. Rajendra

- then comes the sympathy

We just hang around until the end of the drama!

From time to time I gazed at him drawing

multihued red, blue and yellow sun.

His contacts - his very few so-called

well-wishers or I often loved

to laugh behind his head

We always treasured to

share a joke or two

about all his caricatures

Was he crazy, bonkers?

Sometimes, even if we met quite

personally - I always tactfully avoided eye-contact!

Then Rajendra Babu would catch me straight

Holding my hand forcibly, he would start

to say what he has always said previously!

As I was young, full of tomfoolery

Using one of my repeatedly

used antics - I would constantly

dodge him suspiciously!

Well! What can I say?! Just look at

my pathetic condition these days!

I have become one of Rajendrababus

self-portrait unwittingly

But do I have to perish like him unwillingly?

Oh no! Do not want to do that at present!

My dear-one Eka! Do you remember that

the trace of Rajendrababu could not be found anywhere

in this world after that last winter of his year!

Maybe he has joined his most beloved one - the sun!

His unfinished business about finding caring

people from whom he would draw insight

thus comes to an abrupt last part,

Maybe these could

be his last word

which I have never even

bothered to listen in my whole being.

Rajendrababus unsaid

words are left untold

forever beside!