By: Pramod Rastogi

Write these words on your slate
That you will never erase
Is the promise you need to make.

These words of lore are all I own.
They are earnings of my life  
That I had dreamt for you to keep

And which will help you walk the streets
With head held high above the clouds
Where only fairies have their say.

I know you will not deny me,
Your father, to weave a dream
For his son to succeed at every turn.

We bonded as companions the day
You were born. I know that you cared
For me ever since you were a tiny tot.

I never cared how much time we spent
Playing together. The more the better.
Whatever we played, you stole the show.

I held your fingers to cross the road.
We walked on dunes and lost the trails.
We loved to shower under dreamy thoughts.

Now I see the continuity of Time’s flow.
Today, you hold the fingers of my grandson
And I remember all those walks with you.