The countdown began
On a monthly basis from that
day,
When you fixed the date,
Of your home coming,
And became day-wise,
When it was less than a month,
To end with an hour-wise
calculation,
On the day of your arrival.
Then you arrived, my son,
And it was party time,
For the whole household,
Gaiety every minute of your stay.
Palatable dishes garnished on the plates,
Outings began unplanned
As if the household
Got back its glamorous Kohinoor,
After long period of time.
Amidst those joyous moments,
During those enjoyments,
A countdown was going on,
Of the remaining days
Of your pleasant stay,
In a shadowed corner of my mind,
Shaking my heart from inside with each count.
I noticed, the once a tiny shadow,
Was growing slowly but certainly,
And was covering more area,
Of my concerned mind at each daybreak,
Gulping the charm of the pleasure,
You shared with me.
One morning my thought noticed,
The train in which you booked your seat,
Began from its place of origin,
And my hands unwillingly began assisting you,
In the packing ups of your belongings.
I pondered, was that a train
Or an enemy of my pleasure,
That reached the station in time,
To take you away from me,
For some months or maybe a year.
To leave the station,
The iron giant blew its whistle,
Or maybe it shouted at me in a coarse tone,
And cautioned me not to expect a Sunday every day,
Not to wish the pleasure to stay stationed.
The train left,
Leaving behind wagons of tears
To spend throughout the year,
Mutely in the deep hours of nights,
Evading others sights.
No, I didn’t cry there,
Being a man, being a father,
I know the art of hiding tears,
Behind artificial smiles.
