If MFH was a Poet

The Lass who made me a poet!

Never had I written poem, poetry embraced me next day I met her:

One glimpse of her, a glance from her drives me to heaven abode!

Am envious of the lucky guy who holds her hands (her in arms)

Her smile so sweet keeps me alive until dusk,

& Am dead until dawn!

Long her glance every day,

Her smile once a day

Least to hear a word a day

Am going crazy seeing her, her Smile

I don wana see her anymore

B’cause  am going crazy

Am fed up, of myself n my state

Alas! I am a poet…..

My Pop

Appappa... Thampy called, he raised head n looked to wards Thampy from the wheel chair, being pushed towards the ICU, but my poor Dad cdn't see anything but just blurred objects, b'coz he was just dying......was loosing his perceiption. I just can't even imagine the scene, his plight to survive, his feelings..... sorry my Dad! I know, even if I keep chanting sorry all my left over life is of any use.....

I loved you, but never was close to you. We hardly communicated may b it was so in those traditional times between sons n fathers unlike the present. Until 13, I remember having seen him twice or thrice only whenever he and rest of the family came on vacation to Kerala from Hyderabad. I used to be scared of his big moustache and his hefty figure. Having known that they are on the way from the Railway station, I used to hide inside the "Pathayam" where we preserve paddy after harvest.