I write about the one,
Who is even more spirited than me,
Who compares my writings to Wordsworth and Tagore,
Who likes to think that I am a tech – savvy genius,
Who loves to gossip till late at night.
He is old, maybe Fifty years elder to me,
Or maybe older.
But I think we do strike a chord.
We couldn’t be happier in each other’s company.
As when I visit grandpa the next year,
I will see him, the same as every other year,
Defying the numbers of age.
And maybe a few years from now,
I will laugh at my unthinking choice of words.
But the love will remain the same, nevertheless.