She was seven and I was ten,
And siblings rival was too much then.
I got irritated to see my red and
Blue crayons in her busy little fingers
And was terrified till not kept in my bag.
And never cared for those setting sun
And never cared for those setting sun…….
Which remained incompleted.
Poor, she was also not tolerated by her friends
For she bore not the mind of an average child.
She was a little angel.
I would often see her in those lonely beaches
Asking questions with herself.
Perhaps, it may be
“Why don’t human compromise?”
“Why do they fight?”
“Why are they egoistic?” etc. etc…..
I don’t know what was hidden
In that little angelic brain.
And sometimes I act as a consoler,
Play her in our broken home.
Where Mom has left us for her business
And Dad busy with his
And our governess hardly gets time for us,
For her two year son, Bhola
Was always with her.
And I would feel contended with colour books,
But, she, would often see Bhola
With a sigh on her face;
For she never knew that
The mother and child relations were so strong
And would wonder that why she was left alone
Days passed, she grew paler and paler
And one day she was admitted
In one of the costliest clinic
But it was too late…..
Her sweet little face was free from the grip of pain.
Small smiling lips bade good-bye to me.
And closed her searching dark eyes.
That little angelic brain rested in peace.
And left me in this dark wide world……
The sun rises and sets
The crayons are still kept in my bag untouched,
And I dare not even to touch them
Oh! Sister I yearn to meet again
Your departure has changed none
But I am left alone…….
