As the afternoon slipped in,
And it was time, to take a doze;
Into my grandmother’s bed,
Beside her, I crept close.
Tales laden with affection,
She narrated, as I drifted off to sleep;
Lores of concrete enmity and friendship,
And stories that made me weep.
Folklores dating centuries back,
Or of new era contemporaries may it be;
Through the day, storybooks she read,
To tell, yet another tale to me.
But with the tides of time,
Apart, our paths drifted;
The once strong relationship,
Into varied priorities it shifted.
Through the highs and lows of life,
I turned a vim spirited teen;
While she, with her profound serenity,
Stayed as she had been.
No longer, was I interested in her stories,
Rather to gossip with friends, I preferred;
And with the slippin’ hour,
To mere ‘hi’ and ‘hello’ was our conversation curbed.
‘I’ll talk to her tomorrow’, I promised every today,
But as hollow as the pipe did always the promise stay;
Until one fine day, it was too late,
As onto Mother Nature’s arms, her soul drifted away.
For the fault I made,
I could blame god, destiny or just fate;
But my conscience shall for eternity regret,
Cause, it was just too late.
–Ishaan Phukan
Libëranté. 