...Mother says, you write well..

Mother says, you write well
Each time i read, i cry,
I find you and no one else
to be my best friend, in this lonely world

The first time i ever wrote,
the yellow pages in the diary,
you and dad were away, leaving
me and sis with granny and granpa

I was afraid, where were you going,
Will you return, When, Please do, i pleaded,
And in that week of absence, i wrote,
of blue skies and the black crow in our terrace,

Now I try, I am old,
My memory fails me of the lines,
the day has stayed, and the faceless diary
those pages, the black ink

which flowed, you saw,
and you cried.

And i write now too,
you cry, still, but at a distance
unbridgable beyond time or furlongs,
Who am i, no longer the same i

Writing and reading out to you,
and you, no longer the same you,
listening and crying, as i went into your lap,
our eyes moistened in our own worlds

That world, gone, the eyes, now dry,
Who lost it, me, you?
the question perplexes me,
Much like this living does

Writing,
to loose you instead,
this gain and loss
could we have done better

and Mother...you still say,
I write well, each time you read,
you cry, You find me to be your
only friend, in this lonely world.