With cakes and coffee

With cakes and coffee on a mild afternoon
I closed my eyes and thought
Kevin and I
have walked a long way
together in fun, holding hands
Till he went away to grab the silver spoon.

Seeing darkness within golden yellow
I searched for past memories
ochre in colour
creak when turned over
few have faded, few seem fresh
And few are dead beneath the winter snow.

Kevin, I think, had eyes that were like mine
They like to wander through
lands and rivers
unknown like tomorrow
yet within the reach of knowledge
They stop at night, only when the stars shine.

He took me once to a large green meadow
to see a crimson sun setting down
a blue horizon
to a river that brought
a ship saying him, “Fight for thy land”
He left like a soldier with his grey shadow.

Next Christmas came a present with a man now
 elder to the boy who was away
footprints of time
were clear on his face
which looked tired and lived for months
without the cakes I made him. I wonder how?

The homecoming days soon flew to the sky
and before he was done with his
cup of coffee
the afternoon called him
to march and be the saviour he was.
A teary face bade him adieu with smile that was dry.

The ships brought him back and took him away
for years that brought me
letters and postcards
from countries waging war.
I knew he was brave and till then safe.
The papers relieved me as down my fears would sway.

And then one year there came a bad flood in Italy.
The ship took him there but
brought no more
as on the lush field of play
stood little Kevin and a frail crooked me
beside his coffin which had on it a moist red lily.

Time is our pet, but nasty and disobedient
seeking young blood in his game.
Silly and puerile,
it will just not listen.
And when you send back the yesterday
it punctures your heart giving a deep aching dent.

But the hairs I have are old but in wisdom. Hence
I found a way that never let him go.
With crumbling cake
and coffee that soon turns cold
I sit at the porch to look far and find
my son and grandson come in little steps to stand by the fence.

Fantasy seems like an old lady’s only wealth remaining.
What was I without Kevin?
I raised him
but he kept me young.
As the autumn birds would chirp after fall
I knew from them his breaths could be heard, I would sing.

Yes till I live I would cook and sing.
Only for him I would cook and sing.