For Appa.

Sunday morning

I half-expect to see your face,

to hear the sound

Of your footsteps

In and around the house.

the tunes you loved,

and sang in heartfelt ardour.

the way the bathroom smelled,

Just after you’d bathed-

Of soap and steam.

Your wet hair,

and after you’d dressed up,

your face with fragrant vibuti.

A face I looked up to;

A soul I wanted to care for,

In my own careless way,

For Eternity.

the stories you told me,

the times we shared;

I know I have to be strong..

But I didn’t know,

it was this difficult.

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2 thoughts on “For Appa.

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