Thirty-two years over, yet words fumble
a million images of you twined
in pores of my skin and heart
each visual races others pine
twenty-six letters of the alphabet
inept to qualify to conjure you.
Yet I attempt
a thin, quiet person, an engineer and employed
elders chose for merger of my soul
the only four descriptives applicable then.
All of twenty-seven then, now inching to sixty
where did the years in between escape?
Caught in your warmth, your silly jokes
your rock-solid support, your snorting sounds
your flexible attitude, your snoring lullabies
your relaxed nature, your thrown socks on carpet
your pampered nods and your loud music
Years watch as
grey hair replaces thick black curls
lines on neck appear for me to gaze
and listen your excited boyhood stories
and happy childhood lanes.
Each lane traversed by me and Deeksha
multitude times.
A person whom we take for granted,
a person for whom family matters most
a person who loves his job
a person who genuinely cares
a person who loves his routine
a person who taught us so much.
a person who shies from his own birthdays.
But today,
a birthday worthy of mention
sixtieth, an year to remember
the last fifty-nine, passed well
lost a few close ones in the journey
some added, each relation special.
A mixed journey of hiccups and sneezes
aches and balms at some crossings
hugs and cuddles at others.
Forty more to go,
oh no - your automated response
yet each new day, month or year
a journey, where if you turn
I would be there always for you.
Happy birthday, Kumar.
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