She left a note , a brief one,
Few words hidden in dust and dirt
It must have been in her handbag for years now
Like a souvenir
He knew the lines, once.
He had scribbled them on a birthday
The only day she visits him..
Like an awful ritual
Today she looked different
Her hair unkempt, skin more wrinkled
But, those eyes were not meeting his,
Exactly like a decade ago
“Mother, Forgive me if possible,
Not for the crime I committed
But for the days you visit me”
She walked away slower than ever
And he, now, locked in a piece of paper
Kavitha Nair 