ROCKING CHAIR

1.
I'm becoming young again.
I've crossed the river,
The mountain side;
Have found out, the life
Holds the things,
We tend to lose
When we stride.

2.
A little girl is standing on the window pane,
Lights, yellow lights are falling on her
Like the drops of rain.

She has seen a girl growing up.....
Has seen,
A woman struggling in her pain:

An old lady is sitting under her winter shade.
A lady is knitting wool under the sun;
Rhythm of the rocking chair
Blends with the rhythm of her moving fingers.
People visit her.
She visits them.
But, now??

3.
In this mid hour of the day,
The earth seems to be green again.
She can see the squirrel, running by;
It comes and goes
Amidst the crowd of rose.

4.
The grass is smiling, warm,
Afternoon still has the smell of the purple charm.
Light of twilight and dawn are still the same.

The little girl does not know,
What lies there,
Beyond the mountains of snow.

GOOD MORNING, Darling!!!

Tap...tap....tap.. It never stops. It continues to pour down water , drop by drop. Every drop falls and Shanta becomes conscious of her own being. For a few years, this window has become her constant companion. Though her son and daughter-in-law do not really allow her to open the window at this time of the year. But still she manages to keep it slightly opened, and when the chill wind comes through the narrow crack, a strange sensation comes to her mind, as if it is piercing through her skin and and gradually freezes something deep inside: like she still has something warm inside her;that can get cold. Like ancient people, she has forgotten to see the clock, she determines the time by following the course of sunlight, the shadows of her tree. She has forgotten lyrics of those songs,which she used to love once. Now, it is midst of night. She neither knows what time it is, nor she wants to know it. As long as she can see the shadows falling on the grey window pane, as long as she can smell its fine fragrance, she does not want to know anything. Her age has taken away her words, but the senses are stilll strong. It is the shadow of the Bakul tree; it... no no, sorry, she has a name in Shanta's mind. Shanta knows , she and this tree are of same age, though she can not recollect how many years they've been together. She is now bathing in the moonlight; it glimmers in silvery white colour on the grey window glasses. Quite strangely, the tree is becoming stronger day by day, her inner life force is coming out through her branches, leaves , through her lively hues. In day time, she brims with joy, at night she stands straight. At noon, when the sunbeams come through the window , Shanta stretches up her arms out of the window just to catch the falling shadows of this tree. Others may think, she is warming her cold blood under the sun, but actually she wants to bask under the glory of her tree. She has so long a memory with her, so many incidents etched in its arms, skins, that even Shanta can not remember them. Only two bright eyes and a luminous morning, Shanta can remember. However, trees always have longer and deeper memories than human beings are capable of. In this type of night, Shanta can not sleep. Everyone thinks , she is sleeping. Shanta can not see, that the eastern sky is changing its colour, from reddish black it is coming to a bluish purple. Some of the stars are still on their way, but a soft veil of white fog is folding up the whole world. Through the narrow gap between the two window sills, she can feel that, the fog is coming, but light comes too. A faint noise... a very shrill sound is coming from outside. It is growing louder. Some birds are chirping out there. Shanta is getting up from bed. Oh, she totally forgets them. How can she do that?? There are three voracious nestlings there. My goodness! the sun is already on the east horizon. Shanta opens the window. A faint light comes throught the white mist. Looking at the upper branch of the tree, she sees the soft feathers of the wings; one of the parents will be out in search of food again, and then Shanta will be their protector. Looking at those pathetically small small heads she murmurs something to them.
GOOD MORNIG , DARLING. HAVE A GOOD DAY!!