By: Adreyo Sen
When I woke up in the morning, You were gone. I looked for You everywhere.
I went to the temple, but You were not there. I went to the mosque, but they said You were long gone. I went to the church, but they chased me away.
Some said You were with the soldiers in Kashmir, others that You were with the women of the Lost Valley. Some said You were in the jail.
Some said You were only as tall as the smallest blade of grass. Others that You were taller than the tallest mountain.
Some said You were the wind, others that You came into being when quietness entered the heart.
But I knew You. You were strong and yet You were gentle. You had hands that were soft with wisdom. And you smelt of stale onions.
I was roaming the streets, when Mother called me.
“Dinner’s ready,” she said.
And when I ran to her and buried my face in the peonies on her dress, I knew I had found You.