THE TRIBUTE STREET

the tribute street

For now as i say this,
i am almost gone to the world,

i was most happy in,
was the time of my childhood,
when i had just reached ten and,
was happy seeing the colors of sky;

There were times when i could just smile,
and let my eyes get closed;

For i didn’t knew the trends,
of the world;

Living at the edge i didn’t knew,
rather never cared;

For as that was a time when
i was ten;

Hardly i waited for the balloon seller,
plus the ice cream vendor,
who would come through the tribute street,
so called,
and offer me those sweet things
i had dreamt for all day long;

Had i knew this was perishable fun,
what had i done even then;

So not a question as the answer lies,
we had to live it as life;

For the lives and for the kinds,
to be similar enough among,
to not loose the pride;

I used to see my mom,
through a pane in the door,
the daily work she did in the room untold
to me for a time,

The gross result of this would be,
my anger which i ever showed to my mom,
and she laughed the way up through the next door;

I never could knew what was up in that room,
that was my anger, but until i knew;

Then i realised,

Way was to go and to loose,
something we had,
the life and pride;

With hands i cover my face,
without a trace i drop that tear,
let anyone know about this,
and before that i got it vanished, and why;

The answer remained with my mother,
which she never discussed with me,

Though her time was over and now it was mine,
she knew it since the time i became a shine,
of that room,

Now i don’t have to see through a pane glass,
of what my mother had to do,
as now i am what my mother was some way back;

And to ask her now,
she would laugh again,

And today i know it’s her symphony of describing life;

I being brought up by my aunt,
who was beside me forever,
she brought me sweets and balloons
i had ever lived for in my that life,
of a ten year old child to a 20 year old women;

Women i now know this term quite well,
as this is the term which is responsible to
feed the stomach of her child,
and the needs of a man;

My aunt was one women and my mom was one,

Quite a story it is to explain as the lives we live,
are one of their own,
and are existent only to some.

( to be continued ) – TURNING TEN TO TWENTY

– SAHIL KHANNA

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