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