Mother: Our First Home
A mother’s love is the first home we ever know,
And the last place our heart will ever go.
She holds our hand for just a little while,
But holds our hearts through every mile.
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A Smile Full of Memories A friend once asked an elderly gentleman a simple question. “Why did you never marry?” “You are old now. You were kind. You were graceful. Surely, many women must have come into your life.” The wise, gentle man did not answer right away. He smiled-slowly. Not a happy smile. A
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A Smile on a Village Evening Today, I am an old man. I have lived many years in this land of coconut trees, slow rivers, and quiet evenings. Life has shown me joy and pain, gain and loss. But one memory stays alive in my heart. It happened in my village, many years ago.
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Sure, My Time will Come Dear young friends, Today, I want to speak to you about something very simple.Yet, something compelling. It is about patience and waiting. All of us wait at some point in our lives.You wait for good marks.You wait to become strong.You wait for your dream to come true.You wait for your
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The Child Who Held the Night My sahib is Rajendra Singh, IPS.In this colony his name is spoken softly, like a warning.To me, he is the man whose house I serve and whose sleep I guard. “Power slept deeply. I was not allowed to.” His wife, Sunita Singh, taught me fear in small lessons.Not every
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When Love Was a Temple Whisper I walk like a pilgrim on a road where spring once stopped to pray,My hair is turning ash, the way evening melts into smoke. Childhood still rings inside me like thin glass in old corridors,Hunger-small fingers once counting stars instead of coins. Time ground my days like grain beneath
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The Boy Who Played for the Heavens A Mother’s Silent Wish Robby was a young boy with a heart full of dreams. He lived with his elderly mother, whose eyes shone with love whenever she spoke of him. One wish burned in her heart – she wanted to hear her son play the piano. Though
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The Day I Met My Own Younger Self. I watched him,
steady, like the sea beyond Kochi harbour that has swallowed tempests and returned to quiet.
Then it struck me with a softness that hurt:
I was looking at my own beginning. He was my younger self
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A Father’s Quiet Prayer On a Monsoon Night Dear Lord,I stand before You tonight, not as a perfect man,but as a father with trembling lovefor my son who still carries the soft scent of powderand the gentle glow of sunset on his shirt. Grant me strength, not loud, but enduring, Like roots that always hold
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Pinkikutty’s Echo of a Silent Night One moon, one sister, and a silence too deep I called him Chetta, my sun after rain,The one who lifted me on his shoulders,So even sparrows looked small beneath my feet.His pockets smelled of jamoon fruit,His fingers tasted of roasted peanuts and sugar,And his laughter was the swing that
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