zigzagging through the furniture so airily.
She ran, arms held out, like parenthesis,
holding all the love within.
She looked slender, beautiful, and radiant,
like a new day with fresh finery,
and from her brimming eyes flowed the love,
like spring water, pure and unrestrained.
My life at the hostel was good, carefree, lovely.
I sang, I loved, I worked, I lived and often
dreamed of my home, my garden, and my kitchen,
which smelled of warm bread, honey and mother.
But every time she welcomed me with those clinching arms
I realized how I did not miss her the way she deserved;
often forgetting to write letters that she awaited,
oblivious that her continents were cast apart,
and came together only with those blue scrawls that I sent...
Now that she is gone, I miss her like she missed me,
and yearn to see her coming from that kitchen
humming softly, her eyes shining, her face gleaming.
I miss those outstretched arms, the smile, the embrace,
her warm bread fragrance.
And the home-coming…
© Nazia Mallick