Grandma
You lived in a sprawling house
With a beautiful little balcony.
You sat there on the armchair
And looked for me
In the school next door.
Every child looked like me, you said,
And I came rushing back to you,
To your table, to your love,
In the afternoon after my school hours.
Those lost days were magical.
The lake flourished a few blocks away.
I learned my rhymes,
I forgot my name.
Your hair turned gray,
Your speech left you.
I was fourteen the night I got the news.
The book I had in my hands stayed unread.
The computer witnessed
Everything in silence.
They drove us to the place
You would never leave —
Far away from the sprawling house
With the little balcony.
I watched silently as you disappeared.
The cries of the banyan trees nearby went unnoticed.
You would stay forever a hundred miles away
From the village you were born in.
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