He comes home late when the moon's shining bright,
With tired hands after work’s endless fight.
In silence, he dines on roti and chai,
While old Bollywood songs drift softly by.

In a room where whispers dwell,
A figure stands, both tall and small,
His shadow stretches, a silent bell,
Ringing soft through the empty hall.

He wears a smile like a faded coat,
Threads of laughter woven tight,
Yet in his eyes, a distant boat,
Sails away into the night.

Still, in the heart where memories bloom,
His warmth lingers like a gentle song,
A bittersweet dance in the gathering gloom,
Where love and longing forever belong.

.    .    .