One of the most frequent things you do in life is to 'miss'.
A few words I jotted down some days back. These were dotty little firebugs of thoughts whizzing past my head. As if I were travelling through the birth of a new star – cosmo-jacketed and piercing through clouds of nebula dust – swooping in with a prized catch of glowing bugs attached to my black suit.
I miss infant joys.
I miss my childhood laughter. I miss my mother’s caring lap.
I miss my convent, I miss kiddie friends whose faces I barely remember.
I miss my father’s jokes that he used to crack.
I miss innocent winters and dry leaves of heather.
I miss watching them and enjoy being sadder.
dropping this month on Indian soundscapes.