Chhuti,
Dearest, letters to you have been read, re-read, loved and loved well. And then you disappear, appearing as if life were a game of eternal hide and seek. When there could be nothing more direct and honest than the neutrality of trees, standing open and alone for everyone -- days filled with working hours -- you are the honest splash of colours that children aim streetgoers with -- a holiday -- sometimes stolen with the conviction that one deserves it.
Each minute with you yields a life that could be counted backwards with yearning, and finished in an unwanted jiffy. While the day passes in its mediocrity and school kids noisily walk pass into a gentle, dissipating lullaby, time stands still on the couch with you. The hours belong to us, purely, yet never quite adequate.
And that is all that I had to say. Sometimes I feel like hosting a party, at others I wish to be a guest, but mostly, I just wish to be with you. Little Chhuti, open your arms, take me in, sing me a story and let us write a day to ourselves.
Again, all over.
K.
Dearest, letters to you have been read, re-read, loved and loved well. And then you disappear, appearing as if life were a game of eternal hide and seek. When there could be nothing more direct and honest than the neutrality of trees, standing open and alone for everyone -- days filled with working hours -- you are the honest splash of colours that children aim streetgoers with -- a holiday -- sometimes stolen with the conviction that one deserves it.
Each minute with you yields a life that could be counted backwards with yearning, and finished in an unwanted jiffy. While the day passes in its mediocrity and school kids noisily walk pass into a gentle, dissipating lullaby, time stands still on the couch with you. The hours belong to us, purely, yet never quite adequate.
And that is all that I had to say. Sometimes I feel like hosting a party, at others I wish to be a guest, but mostly, I just wish to be with you. Little Chhuti, open your arms, take me in, sing me a story and let us write a day to ourselves.
Again, all over.
K.
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