There was a wooden house in my village, somewhere in Haryana. People termed it as a school but to me it was much more. The place where I lived a life and I learnt how to live a dream. Now, that I know how to live a dream, there is nobody to tell me what comes next. Today that structure is no more. But, still it reminds me of something as a thought and as an unfinished duty.
It was not a room. It was not a building.
The statue lay there unmoved - it laid untouched.
It had more to say than to hear.
It had more to pay than to say and fear.
They used to play in the gardens of the Mother.
They used to sing and dance with the Mother.
She used to tell - but very slowly.
Get up my boys. Get up my boys
Its time. Don't run but walk steady.
Careful be you....you will hear
Faithful be you...you will not fear.
The song of my deeds lay in your hands.
The song of my silence is louder than the bands.
Once I asked "You gave me so much, you made me so much
I can't pay you back.......but tell me How much."
She answered..." Just remember me when in agony
Go my son !!! make your destiny
The day will come when I shall fall.
The day will come when I will call.
You will not come to me - I know you.
You will still be dear to me- I'll miss you"
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