At an English class, with stress on grammar
Being taught how to write a perfect letter
Who’d want to write, my mind would shrug
When all I wanted could be said with a touch.
They said a paper and a quill was all I’d need
Now the instructions seem an outdated feed
For when thoughts overflow, and eyes are blurred
Then lines of the glassed emotions scratch at words
For paper I’ll use the sheer weft and weave
Of woven dreams now turned grey and bleak
There’s a line in there I’d like you to unravel
Pick the perfect seam, to read thoughts in a tangle
Like clues I’ve read, through the dreams you’ve sent
A dear departed’s welcome, as the soul’s river bent
Left me wondering all day, were they good to you,
This new land you inhabit, does it seem more true
When you lay wrapped up in a dress red and gold,
On a bed of wooden sticks, tell me –were you cold,
When I begged for a last time, let me see the face,
Touch once more, the hand that showered grace
Why could I see the soul hovering above?
Watching from afar the scene play of love
Did you see how my innards had been blue?
When flames leapt at you, they charred me too
You’re thrust in a world which I can’t share
I wish you’d tell me that you’re all good there
When in the night I dream of your ashes in the urn
Then why does your fragrance too linger till morn
How many times, I beseeched you to just stay,
When you crossed veils of two worlds each day
For sensations of your touch wrapped us closer
For a moment I’d forget that you’d crossed over
Do you still remember the trips we wanted to take?
Or recall the special words that we two did create,
Does being bereft of body, make you still envision
How icy cold it’s become at the very last station
Before email pervaded, how our lifeline was the post,
You’d made me promise, so each Sunday I wrote
Never breaking this link, in my mind’s treasure trove
Saw your glowing face, as you lived each written word
Now the world has progressed, it’s on a wireless trend
And as my letter too has now almost reached its end
It’s your turn now, Mom; tell me how to send this to you?
And you whisper-through the invisible thread that joins us two.
Ramakant Pande
Being taught how to write a perfect letter
Who’d want to write, my mind would shrug
When all I wanted could be said with a touch.
They said a paper and a quill was all I’d need
Now the instructions seem an outdated feed
For when thoughts overflow, and eyes are blurred
Then lines of the glassed emotions scratch at words
For paper I’ll use the sheer weft and weave
Of woven dreams now turned grey and bleak
There’s a line in there I’d like you to unravel
Pick the perfect seam, to read thoughts in a tangle
Like clues I’ve read, through the dreams you’ve sent
A dear departed’s welcome, as the soul’s river bent
Left me wondering all day, were they good to you,
This new land you inhabit, does it seem more true
When you lay wrapped up in a dress red and gold,
On a bed of wooden sticks, tell me –were you cold,
When I begged for a last time, let me see the face,
Touch once more, the hand that showered grace
Why could I see the soul hovering above?
Watching from afar the scene play of love
Did you see how my innards had been blue?
When flames leapt at you, they charred me too
You’re thrust in a world which I can’t share
I wish you’d tell me that you’re all good there
When in the night I dream of your ashes in the urn
Then why does your fragrance too linger till morn
How many times, I beseeched you to just stay,
When you crossed veils of two worlds each day
For sensations of your touch wrapped us closer
For a moment I’d forget that you’d crossed over
Do you still remember the trips we wanted to take?
Or recall the special words that we two did create,
Does being bereft of body, make you still envision
How icy cold it’s become at the very last station
Before email pervaded, how our lifeline was the post,
You’d made me promise, so each Sunday I wrote
Never breaking this link, in my mind’s treasure trove
Saw your glowing face, as you lived each written word
Now the world has progressed, it’s on a wireless trend
And as my letter too has now almost reached its end
It’s your turn now, Mom; tell me how to send this to you?
And you whisper-through the invisible thread that joins us two.
Ramakant Pande
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