समाचार
Once we were a garland rare,
A string of pearls beyond compare,
Each heart aligned in gentle grace,
Love glowing soft on every face.
A father’s voice, so firm yet kind,
The guiding light, the binding mind,
His laughter wove our fragile thread,
And hope in every step we tread.
But time, unkind, with silent hand,
Unraveled what was once so grand,
The string gave way, the pearls fell wide,
In distant corners, forced to hide.
Now miles apart in shadowed gloom,
Each soul confined in private room,
No eager eyes, no warm embrace,
Just echoes none can now replace.
The mother stands with trembling will,
Amid the quiet, cold and still,
She holds the thread, though worn and weak,
With silent prayers she dares not speak.
Yet in the depths where sorrows sleep,
Sweet memories softly rise and seep,
Like gentle tides they call us near,
Through veils of distance, doubt and fear.
Those golden days, so bright, so true,
Still shimmer in remembrance’ hue,
They whisper low, they gently plead,
“Return, reunite, fulfill the need.”
For pearls, though scattered, lose not worth,
Their beauty holds, their timeless birth,
And threads once torn may yet be tied,
By love that never truly died.
So let the winds of fate be kind,
And draw each wandering heart in line,
Till one by one, with patient art,
They find again the central heart.
And someday soon, though time may test,
The pearls shall gather, close and blessed,
A radiant chain, restored, complete,
The garland whole, in love replete.
Anil Kumar Mishra, Ranchi, India
