I don't want to remember you frail.
I want to remember you as the strong man who taught me everything.
I don't want to remember ever having seen you lie still on your bed.
I want to remember you with your fierce love for life.
I don't want to remember you gone.
I want to remember your hand on my head.

But, if I refuse to remember the end, I would refuse to remember the beginning.
If I cannot own the death, I do not deserve to long for the living.

Her home

It was not her house. She didn't even pay the rent.

Yet, she called it home.

Married at the age of 23, she had to move in with her belongings.

She missed the courtyard of her father's house.

Here, in the small adjoining garden she planted a tree, hoping it would bear fruits one day.

This isn't her house either. And no, she doesn't pay her rent. The far-away daughter does.

They call this home.

Feeble and lonely at 71, she has to move in with her belongings.

She misses the smell of raw mangoes that her tree bears every summer.

A pot of flowering plant is now what she calls home.

Love's hidden memories

I came home with stories full of love

"Don't show it," they said.

So I kept it hidden from view

And no one knew.

But it started to grow, love started to swell

I had to tell, I had to tell.

Everything I saw spoke of love

Your eyes, your face, your smile, your grace.

"Don't show your love," I heard them scream

I shut it out and built a screen.

But my love was not just mine to show

What of the love that made you glow?

My love I could easily hide

But your love for me was too strong to cover.

I failed to cut off love from my life

Because you were born to be the lover.

Growing up...

From fun-filled frolic in skirts, to idle merry-making.

From tiffin boxes full of handmade love, to doodles and empty notebooks.

Those days have long gone by...

From carefree pigtailed girls, to women with kids trapped inside them.

We've grown up. Our world has grown wiser.

Those who were grown-ups then, will only get older.

What was support then, will become frail.

What was home then, one day will no longer be.

Together

Placing my head on your shoulder, I heard your heartbeats. Like for the first time.

It plugged out the noise outside.

I lay still listening to the beat of your heart. Our Heart.

In that moment, if you were to tell me tales of loves lost,

I would have drowned your voice in the stirrings of the heart. Our Heart.

Trying to rise and write a note or two, you held me closer. 

My words lost their rhythm, when compared to the beat of the heart. Our Heart.