A week since the first of January…

A day of sullen cloud,

not much, but a sufficient shroud,

pretending like it’s going to rain;

Instilling belief in a castle in Spain…

I bump my bike on stone wall;

Not that I had no pair

of brakes, not a flaunt of debonair,

I crashed the stand on ashen ground,

Shooting lifeless stares all around…

I set my feet in motion,

for seven rounds, on the trot;

A hand on my emotional quotient,

for there was a war to be fought;

Trivial onslaught,

and a quantum of heat,

A clash of conceit, akin;

Never was it my sin!

A minute and a second

took me to my second,

when I saw the back

of that stern head;

I felt myself disintegrate,

shred by shred;

My world lost its colour,

and my life had gotten stale,

Grayscale:

Without a hue, in my vision

to be seen,

Grayscale:

I had lost the charm

on my retinal screen…

My trauma hit a fever pitch,

as I glimpsed an ‘old man’ pitch,

to his batsman of a son,

who had just begun;

It reminded me of my days,

when I was merely four,

when I wished to touch the sky,

all ready, to reach for more…

But now…

I lost my world

and it lost its colour, and

I had fallen sick from being hale…

Grayscale:

Wasn’t a trace of a tint

in my mind, to find,

Grayscale:

Oh, I had finally turned colour-blind!

If only I had a rewind button

to press,

I’d be out of my distress

in no time;

I could even become a clown,

than the Martyr-Mime

that I am now…

I know, that I erred

in letting you go,

that it’s hard to be

a one-man-show,

I need you in my life;

I need a rise: At least a word

if not a piece of advice,

for without you, I’ve

got no world, got no colour,

and eternally will I ail,

Grayscale:

You’re my rainbow,

as far as I can see,

Grayscale:

Dad,

You’re everything to me…