Poem
I’m getting older, my little one
Now I carry two glasses
one thick for crying
and the other to trace your footprints
wherever the poems are
Have you grown up, my little one?
Is the child inside you still not grown?
I don’t want you…
to grow old like me and lose our details
I don’t want anyone but you to write our story
Tell the world after me that:
The one who has died was my beloved.
