Young and Old Kumar
Young and old Kumar is gone,
sent the keys to the bank.
No more Sabah an-nur in the morn.
No more beautiful balcony flowers
like a paradise garden,
like heaven,
like angels.
He left the kitchen window open;
like a gaping mouth,
gulping down the summer rain.
I wish I had a photograph.
I think with my camera.
His three kids, two girls and one other:
He has taken them to Maharashtra
to his friendly days and
his school boy nights.
He did not want them
attending school
here
in the States.
A father is always right when it comes to
the hungry birdlike children.
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