Little Lighthouse.

The north star,

To a turbulent mind.

The keeper of conscience,

Of a fickle heart.

A stream of consciousness,

Amidst hedonistic thoughts.

A rock,

that dissipates,

Wave-after-wave of fleeting aspirations.

An unwavering vow,

That repels the ravages of time.

"Will you go away on a plane,

And never come back ?"

The boy had asked.

His tremulous voice,

Betraying his feigned nonchalance.

"I will go.

But come back."

The father had promised.

Anant Kumar Asthana