I looked for you along the borders of my mother’s embroidered saree, under the shade of mango trees in scorching summers and amidst the books I found a world in;
I called for you in the rain as I ran toward my house; wondered where you went when she was in my arms and I in hers. I raced you to the peak, turned back and you were nowhere to be seen. You escape my memory as I sleep in mother’s lap, her gentle fingers caressing me.
I don’t think you fly, dear time
You disappear. You elusive thief.