That little dark room,
Has been demolished,
And the last trace of your niche,
Erased from the house.
But do you think,
I don't remember you at times?
I knew you very little.
All that's left are faint images.
Little snitches of the past.
How you studied in that corner,
And your drawer,
Was a storehouse of stickers.
They were a treasure trove,
For my little hands.
You pasted those water tattoos,
On my chubby hands
How old was I?
Three or four?
When I wandered over,
To see your handsome figure,
Hunched over that desk,
Those deep eyes, curly hair,
And thoughtful smile.
You're just a photograph
In the album now.
A name we occasionally remember.
We talk very less about you.
And how fate snatched you,
At a age when you should've
Got a job or be married.
I still remember that day.
We reached the house
And mum asked where you were.
And they said, you had gone,
On some unknown journey,
The fire was still burning,
At a corner of the portico.
I didn't know back then.
You've lived in our thoughts
In those sad faces
When we see pictures
Of my infancy,
You holding the baby me,
In the sacred rice ceremony.
Mama, I don't miss you.
Cause I knew you very little.
But still there's something,
Unforgivable, unforgettable.
The fact that now I know.
Exactly what it was.