You pick me up from crowd and put me on
A tree of memories haunted by you.
I wriggle like a tiny squirrel on
Its branches. Familiar faces, places too,
Appear like apparitions becoming
Solid wood (adding a layer each year – four
To be precise) and leaves as well – quivering.
You disappear into thin air. But for
The heck of it, I ignore your absence.
I hobble too far. A delicate twig cracks.
Your burden makes me fall. Again. I sense
Your presence. You curtly say, ‘stay on track’.
I follow your instructions. Tired and bored,
I check my luggage in and get on board.
Rahul Singh writes on Indian Review.