(This poem was written on 26th January 2009 on the Republic Day parade at India Gate,

New Delhi.)
MARCH OF TIME

The parade marches on

Neat files,
Arm and arm
Shoulder to shoulder
Straight and tall
So brave and bronze

They refuse to watch

The little ones
And scamper off
Like little rabbits
In search of their carrots or play.

They don’t want to see

They would rather play or just be
But they don’t want to watch
Others fathers march past
And get decorated for valour
And courageous deeds
They would rather hide
And be somewhere else
For the face they wanted to see
Was not there
They knew.

Tears had welled up in mother’s breast

Shaken to the core
Unbelieving and taken aback
Freshly hurt and sore

Years and years pass

Decade and a quarter
Of toil and hard grind
It’s another place
Another age
Another time
The parade marches on
Again
But it’s muted and stifled
This particular year
After the terrorists and bombs
The 26 / 11’s and such going ons
 They sit and watch together
The parade marching on
The laying of the wreath
At the India Gate
For the eternal soldier
Who died fighting for peace
The eternal flame burning on
With armed forces in attendance

They watched the medals

And the awards
Being given
To the valourous soldiers kith and kin
They watched with swelling hearts
And overwhelming pride
The entire glorious ceremony
And the mother sat
Holding her breath
Seeing them drink in every detail
Eager and curious
About everyone and everything.

Tears rose up and flowed

Down her face
Her children were searching
For their father once again
Trying to connect with him
Through the parade.