Wednesday, May 27, 2009

We Are Friends

I saw him,
Running on the road;
Bare Footed,
Unbounded hairs,
Rolling a cycle’s rim,
With a wooden stick.
The rim rolled faster,
He was left behind,
On the road-lonely, distressed, waiting,
For someone to hold the moving rim,
Just like his life-rolling, moving, and roving.
I looked,
With my hidden efforts,
With a love in my eyes,
For that boy, watching,
Looking at me with hopeful eyes,
Asking to hold him, in the times,
Times of happiness and sadness,
Times of pain and relief,
I ran and stopped the rim,
With a scratch in my palms,
Quite red, but not that red,
Quite harsh, but not that harsh,
I saw a beautiful smile on his face,
Not quite beautiful, but very beautiful,
Not for some time, but for a longer one,
He came near me,
With thanks in his eyes and so on his lips,
And in the voice, he said-Thanks friend,
He saw my palms, still some red,
He felt the scratches, still some harsh,
And regretted with a white scintillating,
Flowing with reasons,
A drop of tear, just for me,
Just so fresh, like the morning dew,
He rubbed on the scratches,
And tried to remove them,
From my palms, But,
I held his hands with mine,
And shaking them,
I said, Don’t Worry dear,
We are Friends.

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