EMPTY CHAIR

THE EMPTY CHAIR

In a sun drenched liquid pool of golden light sheen

Untouched sits your rattan and bamboo chair,

Of the brightest canary yellow I'd ever seen

"Grandpa! Tell me a story", I would beam…

Why didn't the white bunny visit me last night in my dream?

Lounging on it, nursery rhymes were hummed for me and folktales were spun!

Tapestries of dazzling dreams were woven

and melodious songs were sung!

With your steaming cup of coffee in hand

The morning papers you ardently scanned

Your voice baritone to that chair belonged

Your siesta on it till dusk was comfortably prolonged

No one would I allow, within an inch square of your favorite chair

It was my territory to guard when you weren't there!

Like a soldier I would barricade it if anyone slightly dared

Like a tiger I would roar, mimic it's claws and fangs bared

Grandpa was tired, he grew old and weak

Wrinkles on his forehead and cheeks were more marked and deep

Grandpa is no longer around

But his chair is safe and sound...

His portrait rests on it in a sturdy frame, it's now my shrine...

I sit beside it, pretend he's still there and talk to him from time to time!

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A HAYWIRE SCRIPT

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Sangeetha Kamath

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