Poetry

Note : I am seriously trying to write poetry.  This is one of my first efforts. 

             I dream of bygone days,

             When I was my father’s daughter,

                 The times he held my hands

                And made sure I didn’t falter.

          I dream of my college days,

            When I first flew the coop,

            The days I studied and studied,

               But failed to get the scoop.

Still my father held my hands,

And guided me through my toughest days,

Till that day when he saw me graduate,

And for ever we left that place.

I dream of my first days at work,

When I touched frail humans,

Trying to understand their pain,

And started holding hands myself.

My father’s hands still guided me,

When I worked day and night,

Holding hands of patients who knew who held their hands,

And those who never knew who held their hands.

I dream of those days when my father guided me,

Talked to me about good things and things that are right,

Of Biblical stories and stories from the Vedas,

Stories of valor and might.

My father guided me and led me on,

To that day when I was betrothed,

To a man who would guide me from now on,

And lead me on paths unknown.

My husband was not a man of my dreams,

Nor a knight in silver armor,

But he now appears in my dreams,

As we have made our life together.

I dream of my future,

A day when I can work once more,

A day when things will be easier,

A day when I can hold tired hands once more.

In my dreams these days,

Come visions of glorious days,

When people of my  past come back to my life,

And we relive the old days.

I dream that I can do great things,

Eat well, lose weight, write about magnificent things,

Achieve my dreams, tour the world,

And people know me for by the  hands that held my hands,

All those days, so long ago.

Advertisements