Childhood returns in old age
Every little hurt brings a tear and an 'ouch'
No mom is there with a kiss and a soft blow
But time is plentiful to dry those saline drops
Alone, in quiet, without any body looking.
Once the storm is over
Calm returns as usual
Like nothing happened
Just but a lees of muddy soil
settled deep upon psyche.
No pilgrimage is enough to
Cleanse that soiled and dusty heart
Than an arroyo of love and forgiveness.
Pioneers are sacrificial lamb
With their flash and blood
Paving the way for greater good.
In my old age
I need a high tech kitchen
No cook required.
Savita Tyagi
August 27th 2014
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