Even on
the brightest morning,
when the best birds sing,
and the sun is out
bright and strong,
and my mind
is planning what to do,
I miss you.

Even at the mid of day
when I am sorting lunch
and getting some writing
on the way,
trying to move on
from the blue,
I miss you.

Even when I laugh
at some TV show,
or cry at some hospital
tales old or new,
I miss you.

And at evening time
When sun has set
and moon is out
and glowing
and the sky
is neither black
nor blue,
I miss you.

I miss you
for being you,
not some abstract self,
not just someone
I used to know,
but you, my son,
you, and with palm
blown kiss,
I say:
It is you I miss.