Perhaps
One day,
The gentle cusp of winds
Will once again,
Show you the way to my
Old lanes. Just like yesterday.
Or maybe 12 monsoons ago.
Where we stood,
Under the leaking roof
Smiling our faces out
Under the Bangalore rains.
Chai in our hands,
The edges of my pants
Still wet from the splashes we splashed.
The gajra in my hair
Still fresh, still precious,
Just like our love,
Just like us.
Under the blossoming age of youth.
The never ending terrains,
Are still waiting for your footsteps..
The cracked window
Where you used to throw rocks,
In the name of end of midnight talks,
Are still waiting to called upon.
The water lilies you planted in my small make-do pond,
In a terracotta cauldron, is withering away,
In your promises and hopes.
These very fields,
Where we walked
Hand-in-hand,
Whispering promises and fragile dreams,
Afraid the world will know,
Of our simple wishes.
Are barren of any hopes of happy endings.
Unlike my eager soul, deprived of you and your curd rice.
And here am I,
In adulthood,
Waiting for your gentle wave of
Goodbyes and hellos.
In hopes
That
Maybe someday,
When the gust of wind
Takes your heart
Down the memory lane of mine.
Hence,
Here I stand,
By the shore of world,
On the pier of hope,
Holding a cup of chai in my hand,
Those gajras in my hair
Waiting for your heart to meet mine.
Maybe today,
Maybe tomorrow,
Maybe now,
Maybe someday
When the gust of wind,
Will take your heart
Down the the memory of lane.
Know that,
Here I am,
Waiting for you.
With your favourite adrak wali chai.
On the footsteps of the same
Creaking stairs,
You held me goodbye.
Hoping someday,
We will have our favourite chai
Together.
Maybe today?
Is it today?
Please say yes.
Prishita, waiting for you with a cup of tea and a pot of hopes.
