The Rocking Chair

Ahoy, you soft wooden vessel

Sitting center of our Bangalorean flat

You who found your delicate spindles like walnut teeth smiling, breathing

Swaying as the Indian summer breezed through your frame.

We became acquainted on my holiday visits

as we both sat together atop terrazzo tiles of the bustling living room floor

each playing in parallel.

You, rocking with the wind,

showering in sunlight slowly pouring over your grains,

bathing you in a resonating morning glow.

Achacha, Grandfather, was your human.

You, his daily respite.

A starched white mundu draped over

rocking in unison, undulating along the floor.

His newspaper weaving daily stories within his still morning mind,

filling it with worldly quiet secrets.

I would steal time with you when you were empty.

Your maroon cushioned seat embraced my small.

Jonny Quest and Ninja Robots shining from the black box in front,

my toes wrapped around your curved feet

my fingers curled tightly over your knobbed arms.

You were my floating bark swimming with me through cartoon worlds.

Today you still sit here, but an empty container,

not be filled to your essence no matter who boards you.

He is gone now,

              forever

That silent gentleman who steered you daily.

You balanced life's mundane with the serene,

growing old gracefully with a thin-lipped smirk,

emanating security and calm from this dancing throne

laying a thick soft layer of love within our souls.