Woman's Era - - Contents -

In this jour­ney called life Rain­bow hues of ex­pe­ri­ence makes us wise A kid, I see my­self With hands in pocket of pink new dress, Walk­ing with pride un­mind­ful of any re­grets In this jour­ney called life As ado­les­cent. An awk­ward walk, un­sure of my­self Lost in con­fu­sion and fret A youth, wan­der­ing in can­dle-lit cav­erns, With Prince charm­ing whom in my dreams I had met. In this jour­ney called life, In mel­low­ing ma­ture years, swings of life make me nos­tal­gic with cher­ished mem­o­ries and some un­paid debts. A sib­ling who left at ‘19’ with mem­o­ries umpteen. A mother who nur­tured a net­work of re­la­tion­ships, whose glory can’t be sung in any ep­i­thet. A fa­ther who gave us wings to soar high him­self re­mained soaked in sweat so that the best we be­come and get. Now, in this jour­ney called life I re­joice in glory of every bright and beau­ti­ful morn­ings, gen­tle waft of evenings gets me rest. Age­ing night give me clam and con­tented de­light. Blessed am I with a lov­ing hus­band and dot­ing son by my side A saintly fa­ther and friends so nice They don’t make a mil­lion promises but are al­ways there in var­i­ous dis­guises Spir­i­tual spa­ces have moved away from the prayer room. They are by the win­dow in the gar­den, in you and me ev­ery­where alike. I look up in grat­i­tude and have vi­sions of my essence in a di­vine ride. – Ritu Ku­mar.

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from India

© PressReader. All rights reserved.