It’s raining, mud puddles are digging deep
stretching their lips to sip from a barren earth.
I’m waiting in a pigeon coop for the sun to peep.

A brittle wind shapes a vase and then a hearth
in the sky. A lonely lady steals a moment to weep
behind dark windshields driving up north.

Her son, alongside crushing a candy, sleeps
every night hearing stories of a man, whose absence
rules his small world, a world his friends can’t peep.

She can’t help but sacrifice, as this distance
has never been smaller over last two and half years.
He lives ten thousand miles away; his presence

is more a play of shades mixed in her tears.
She wears dark glasses to hide her fears.

Copyright© 2004, Debashish Haar, All Rights Reserved