By Yukta Admane
I have finally weaved a story
From the bottom of my heart
Into a formation
That is affectionate,
And standing tall on being honest.
Everyday a calm storm raises above her eyes,
Of restlessness.
Visible from her constant movement
Sometimes she sits there quietly,
Wearing a sleepy smile constantly,
And staring at her feet calmly.
Bickering him constantly,
And chattering syllables quietly,
He gives her a smile,
Waits for her, to calm down,
He holds her hand,
But lets her be in her own world.
It's a quiet and a starry place - her eyes,
Don't know if she laughs after hiding the little things
Under the bed,
And mat.
She's like a free bird
Who loses her attention
Quicker than a second.
She's like an angel,
Who glides in her gown,
Forgetting all her senses.
She doesn't sit at all,
When she does, she sleeps.
When we dance, she dances,
But don't know if she remembers after a minute, anything, at all.
She doesn't forget to brush her adoration on us.
Sometimes, when she sees us,
Her warm hands move in the rhythm of her bangles.
None of us know what goes on in her beautiful mind when she does that,
But her endearment justifies all that.
Her laughter is contagious,
Like a blanket, it sticks on us.
Her Alzheimer pills are far too many,
He makes sure she gets them all.
She doesn't worry at all,
And forgets the bitter taste
In seconds,
And is back to swaying in the house,
Freely like a river.
Picking up things on the journey,
While my dear grandfather calls her,
She looks so happy,
And is warm,
I just hope, my Aaji doesn't feel lonely,
At all.