It's going to be alright

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“Daddy I've come”, nostalgia traces back from foreign land.
Collecting his shaky steps, skin as pale as winter storm
He smiles through the cracks and hugs her back
His baby daughter was finally home.

But he quivers a bit when she introduces him
When did his little daughter grew this big anyway
He blesses the lot, ties their knot
Silently, as he watches her fade away.

“It's a girl”, the nurse cries out in joy.
She herself is a mother now.
Little piece of life she calls her daughter, as she was once to her father
She gazes at the table, eyes narrowed at his memoir

She says, “I am going to give you everything
The stars and oceans, whatever's there
You'll be just fine, your mother's here
It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright ”

-

“My daddy made it” a six year old flings her braid
When her teacher asks what happened to her red ribbon and hair band.
Hair strands ebbing out, but so was her pride
Because no-one had their hair done from their father's hand.

“That must be hard”, he hears them say
As he moves his daughter on the swing
“Why don't you marry again, of course you may”
But they don't know that he already has the gift from his dream.

A little piece of heart he calls her
When she loves to play with his love
A bumpy road, what a coaster ride
He lets go off, the swing goes up.

Warm as the blanket he puts on her,
Gently kissing her forehead while she's asleep.
He says,“I'm going to give you everything
The stars and oceans, whatever's there
You'll be just fine, your daddy's here
It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright.”

-

3AM, in the midnight hour.
She wakes him up from the bed.
He holds her up, hugs her tight
For how can he handle her tantrums when she's mad.

But she's mean and selfish
She cries until she satisfies her hunger deep.
Cuddling underneath the sheet, he sings her to sleep
At the midnight's crack and dawn's bleak.

A little piece of Sun, he calls her.
She's both sunlight and light in front of her mother.
Coldness creeps as he turns the gas stove on.
He bottle feeds his baby daughter.

He rocks the cradle, lullabies haunts his ear
He says,“I'm going to give you
The stars and oceans, whatever's there
You'll be just fine, your daddy's here.
It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright”

-

We were that perfect story
Which was never truly written

-

Same stars
Different now.
They light up the different roads
Which I once called home.

Cold nights, burning hours.
We'd paint the fabled skies,
With greys and blues
A few stains in the net of time.

Lukewarm and bittersweet
We were melodies and harmonies.
Our memories like firefies
Finding their way in the dying light.

Time flows, life shapes on.
Moulding different blooms in distant lands.
To follow our written stars
We grow stretching through the canvas of fate.

-

We were two imperfect poems
A flaw in the fabric,
A glitch in time.
The only difference was,
You found your pen, and I bled your stories on paper.

-

God gave you a myriad of skies
Yet you chose the brightest stars.
Forgive me for not enthralling your eyes
Because I hid my secrets beneath the moon's scars.

-

Till now I thought poems are hard.
And those are stonehead who don't understand the work
But actually It's so easy to write poetries,
Than to actually say it.
Somewhere those metaphors, similes, and all complicated devices meant for ambiguity and subtleness are thousand times easier to say the actual thing.
Maybe it's all the pen I have!

-

Indian system be like,
from our +2 till masters, Make us go through spoonfeed learning, mug up syllabus, under funded labs, clear PhD entrance with top AIR.

But in PhD, suddenly expect us to create our own Schrodinger's equation and some extra deluxe super special theory of relativity.

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