The Morning That Remembered Him
It was a gentle, beautiful morning. A cool drizzle lingered in the air. Around nine, perhaps, I stood waiting at the bus stop, Time dripping slowly with the rain. From a distance he approached A seventy-year-old man, Half-soaked, In a faded red shirt and a simple lungi, Walking toward me through the mist. Suddenly he stopped beside me And reached out his hand. Thinking he asked for my umbrella, I offered it to him. He shook his head-no. Only then did I understand, He sought support To climb the steps beside me. At once I gave him my hand, Helping him rise. I do not know why, But that fleeting touch Awakened something deep within me A memory of someone dear to my soul. Thus, that morning began Wrapped in a quiet, tender warmth. Yet that sweetness melted my heart, Carrying me back To cherished moments of my childhood With the one I loved most. My teacher who raised me, My guide through life, More precious than my own breath When, oh when, Will I see you again? -Abi