At ninety-five, she sat serenely
In her decrepit, mahogany armchair
On the old rickety verandah.
She looked wistfully at the young,
Lively, carefree, innocent children
As they played unbelievable games
Of cops and robbers, warriors and leaders,
Presidents and kings, queens and princesses!
Then, breaking away from the band
Of frenzied youths, a scrawny urchin
Suddenly stood there before her!
His steady gaze penetrated the very depths of her soul
With the imperious insistence of a demure judge!
Instantly, she saw, in his eyes__ limpid pools
Of exuberant beauty, truth, honesty and sincerity__
Images of her old vicissitudes of pain!
Suffering and anguish marched in a procession
Of desire and hope to attain the ultimate
Triumph of eternal faith and unswerving love
Over the apocalyptic paradigm of death!
( First published in Taj Mahal Review – Vol.7, No.2, December
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