A Gift To The Heart

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Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister.
~Alice Walker

I wrote about her when I was 7 years old, A poem for my school magazine. Of course I didn't write it my Dad did. Maybe I should have written this long Back.

Into earthly hands she was born,
An angel without wings to adorn.
Her radiant face and her full round eyes,
And those looks like she was about to cry,
Her childish giggles and her baby talks,
Still in my ears do ring with unlost charms.

I remember the moments when her lips curved down,
With a tiny trail of shiny tears,
And all this just to look her best,
In her cherry dyed favourite dress.

Aha! and how would I forget those pillow fights,
At the end of which she would run to Mom and Whine.
There went the cane on my buttocks,
Those are now joyful memories which in my heart do reside.

Times were there when I would cry in a corner,
After Dad's treatment on me was conferred. (Ooooh!! the thought of it still pains)
She would come and give me solace,(which was of course no good)
She would sit beside and see me through the phase.

And look now she is a fine Lady,
Who gives me advice as if I am the Baby,
Her baby talks now makes more sense
Alas.. It hasn't changed- the way she cries. [;)]

But she is to me still the little one,
Who cried for her cherry dyed favorite dress;
The angel without wings to adorn
But with lots of love to endow.

--Rahul Nair

A life without her...
I can't think About ...

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