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Ashok Manikoth Aug 2020
On the dark side of midnight, I lay sleepless
Thoughts of the unknown, and unseen filling my mind
An encounter that morning, was the trigger for this sleeplessness
For a month now during my morning stroll, been seeing two elderly men
also on their morning stroll
they would surely be walking if the weather agreed
Past ten days though, I missed them on my walks
Till this morning
but there was only one of the two,
He had aged in the last ten,
His gait was slow,
shoulders drooping more
than age could cause.
Out of concern, I asked him
And he said,
that his friend of 30 years had left him
without a chance to say goodbye
For a decade now, their morning walk was a ritual they both kept religiously
And now with his friend gone on the final walk of his life,  without a word, the void
was too much  to fill.n
I walked with him the rest of the way, offering nothing but silent company
When the time came to part, he held my hand and smiled,
I could feel his heavy heart, and in the faint smile, I saw some relief
I walked back home happier that I could lend a shoulder
But now, I feel the burden of his loss
Reflected though it is
It's making me sleepless and eager for the break of dawn.
Remembering an incident that took place a decade ago.
Ashok Manikoth Aug 2020
Life uses all the colors of the rainbow and more.
Darkness and its many shades pass as a medium for this versatile painter.
String off colors starts with love and ends with hope, with a lot of juice in between - the juice of life.
Many relationships pain you to tears, even if one, sheds for you hold on tight.
A few drops of salty dew could be the litmus test to who will be among the four to bear your weight as you prepare to go.
Something got into me and me wrote.
Ashok Manikoth Jul 2020
Mother brings a lot off memories
The first perfume I smelt was hers as I snuggled in her arms.
Years later when Angels needed her more than me I realized that she wore no perfume all her life, what I smelt was her love for me.
Now I know why angels look so beautiful it's because you and many a mother is there to braid their hair just right.
Ashok Manikoth Jul 2020
My list of friends are growing short,
my table mates are disappearing.
Fans I had none then and now the only fan I know is stuck to the ceiling.
I wonder what they saw when they flocked around me and what they missed when they flew away.
I haven't changed but for a few gray hairs on my head, laugh lines as I call them when they adorn my face on other's they are wrinkles.
The intelligence of a five year old the mind of a teen, I've grown in weight and strength otherwise I remain almost the same.
I've tried to change with the changing times but a feeble voice within me whispers though shall not.
Within me I am a happy soul when the world desired great things mine was for an ice cream from the corner store.
Ashok Manikoth Jul 2020
Glorious Past
Let's go for a walk let's walk the talk
Of glorious past.
The present is freaking the future is bleak.
A virus is spreading job's are falling apart.
Governments are failing economy slipping.
Health is a thing off the past.
I hope the quantum theory is true
Of seven life's in different planes
Then at least we can assume six of them are better off.
Ashok Manikoth Jul 2020
A lifetime as a teacher many a IAS, IPS
have gone through his tutelage. The satisfaction of a job well done brings a smile to his withered lips.
He was patient with his flock age has eroded his sense of humor looses his temper at all around.
They wait for him to take his last resting kith and kin alike have no time for him.
One fine morning when the household woke he failed to rise with the sun.
As they prepare him for his final journey by word of mouth a crowd gathers at there front door to pay respect to this grand old man.
The said list of IAS, IPS, Doctors and more are some of them who have come to have a last glimpse of this great soul.
As they watch they wonder whether a gentle smile had replaced the tiny frown
on these lifeless lips.
Ashok Manikoth Jul 2020
When someone asks me to write on a topic of his choice I go blank I get writers cramps.
The words the verse for what it's worth should flow on it's own triggered by a thought or sight or sound.
I can't write for another however hard I try.
I write not for fame or fortune like a sneeze or cough got to get done with it to get relief.
My stock of words are limited my verse even worse but when I am done writing a smile flickers on my lips relief in my heart.
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