Skip to main content

Special to Me

As special as every single snowflake
Before it falls on to the other
And becomes ice.

As special as the first born
After years of thankless
Tyranny of time.

As special
As the memory
Of our first kiss.

As special
As first love
As the first rains
The first house
The first pay
The first dance
The lost ones
The loved ones
The dear Lord

And
This life
With you in it.

Comments

  1. All the firsts... I like this... some firsts are bitter sweet... however; I do have good memories of them... xox

    ReplyDelete
  2. How beautiful, Rajesh. The first time for everything is indeed special and a wonderful memory. Thank you for your sweet comments on my blog :)

    ReplyDelete
  3. I like the first here. You never forget your first memories. Beautiful or Nightmarish both. :)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Hush

You don't have to tell me. I just know. Its that little sniffle that comes through The unexplained pauses The slow responses I know when you call Just because you needed to cry.

Long Winter Chill

If I could do a Neruda, You would have smelt of summer roses And Autumn pine. There would have been sheer love Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache And loneliness bordering the divine. You would have had so many secrets Welling up as in a girly giggle And so few friends who would hear them all. I am no Neruda I can't paint you a Summer breeze Amidst this long winter chill.

That Fluttering of Broken Wings

If you were to cross the road and hurt your toe, I know that I will never know. As we go on to take different roads and move on across different shores, there is something that happens to our relationships. Something that estranges, disconnects, disintegrates. I know that you still think of me. I know this because I find myself thinking about you. And thoughts rarely get seeded on their own. It comes from you to I and from I to you until one of us is alive. Old relationships rarely die. Like broken winged moths, they hang around dark alleys of forgotten memory lanes. Ever so often, I can hear one of them flutter its wings. Not too close but never too far.