I saw a flower
in a crack of a sidewalk,
that reminded me of you.
Not because it was common,
but because it was original.
Something beautiful
that grew
from nothing.

hold me close
   in your arms,
   as my memories
   fade away from
   me.
heal my broken heart,
   for i am not an
   artificial being,
   for i go on
   feeling.
take me away from
   the void of fears
   and making experiences,
   as you open up your
   heart.
i'll always remember
   the time we spent
   together, in this selfish
   and limited
   lifespan.

my dear don't
    be afraid to
    take flight and
    call out for help
we will and
    have promised to
    protect you,
    on our word
a samurai will
    and never will he
    abandon his orders
    *to protect you

from words you say,
    to the things that
    you do just
    to joke on me
they leave an
    unhealable scare
    etched upon
    my aching heart
a thousand feelings
    bottling up, inside
    of me,
    a time bomb

my dearest child,
    the tears you've
    shed, now lay upon
    the earthy
    soil.
it has grown
    to make a
    beautiful and
    fragile
    soul.
your kindness may
    not be seen, yet
    fear not, for the
    light, shines through
    you.

waiting for a spark
    your eyes lock
    on my dark and
    hopeful ones waiting
for the right
    kind of love
    you'll someday give
    out to me

It is another Sunday in the winter.
I am properly tucked in my quilt.
I browse through the top headlines of the hour.
It says the temperature outside is two-degree centigrade and I quit
all ideas of leaving my quilt.

Sundays in winter were my favourite days
and letting me play on Sundays my cookies
for reading properly for six days.
Those Sundays, which seem to be distant memories,
are some of my best memories.

Saturdays were the days of preparation.
Arranging bats, *****, and bicycles, at least, four,
deciding time and venue for the action,
making strategies to sail us ashore-
were some important tasks to be completed before.

I used to sleep a bit early after setting
up a thousand alarms, in case I missed a few,
to ensure I woke up in the morning.
and then I would make a few
calls to wake up the crew.  

Though while gearing up,
I would move as little as possible
my Mom would always wake up
and then I had to wear all the clothes ‘cause cold air made you susceptible
to sick and sick made you feeble.

Before I could leave home, I had
to close the door as slowly as possible
because I didn't want to wake up Dad
for he was predictably unpredictable
and it was too risky a gamble.

We dared not look into uncles 'n aunties'
eyes while asking our friends to come to play
for their looks could terrorize
anyone. We'd then go to the decided play-
ground on the shared bicycles without delay.

Quarrels to bat at the top,
the endless running around to save a few runs,
‘barking’ on fellow players lest catches they drop,
heated discussions on run-outs-
these memories still give me goose bumps.

The celebrations after winning the matches and
blaming each other for losing were
the customs of the day and
mom made ‘chicken’ and a good after-
noon nap - a perfect finish for a day to remember.

A lifetime has gone by
since we last played together
and bade each other goodbye
but those memories still lurking somewhere
inside our brains adhere us together.
I usually do not write about myself or my memories, which makes it special. Those days are some of my best memories. And in a cricket crazy country like ours, many definitely have similar memories.
© Devashish Kumar

​So you are coming back now,
In small currents.
Lapping against my shores ever so gently,
Sneekily peeking inside for hidden memories.

Now that you have come back,
In tides and waves.
Hitting against me with a power so familiar.
Trying to knock the walls that hide me,
From the memories I dare not revisit.

Now that you have gone,
A storm's wreck behind
You knocked down every wall I built.
Leaving me in circles,
In this hurricane of broken emotions.

I am still caught up in your winds.