Sundar drinks a can of juice
to the last drop. Places it
in the refrigerator, walks off.
Late for lunch he sets aside
the cooked dishes, prepares
one of his own,
Emptying half a bottle of sauce
on a Pizza, he throws a sizeable
piece into the bin.
Garrulous when he was in between
five years to eleven, remains
tight lipped.
A nod up and down for an “yes”
and one right to left for “No”
are the gestures he makes.
I watch him from afar as he lives
thousands of miles away, The cheerful
child I carried in my hip
is a big boy with a thick moustache,
long beard, tall, lean, bespectacled
I look at him with eyes wide open,
my jaws fall down, I exclaim
“You, my first grand child!”
I bit my lips as I feel he will
detest such outburst. He
comes forward, hugs me,
an intimate expression that
he is the same old child.
I
Meenas Poems 