Bismillah...
I long for the people I never get to meet.
What peculiar dream I had
There was a car workshop with an assembly of toy cars lining up infront
While some mechanics were busy doing their tasks, another couple were entertaining the children
Teaching them how to fix the toy cars themselves
Amongst them was a grandfather
Teaching his grandson
Everyday, this would be his routine
Children would sit out infront, learning new things which the elders would taught with patience
This particular grandfather was particularly loved by them
...one day, he was no more
Old age and his time had come
And her daughter, their mother would wipe off the bench table from sawdust and eraser dust
A single tear started and she just silently clean the place
Unable to contain her love, her memory of her father, and their grandfather
I woke up bewildered
Was the love of that family that profound that I even dreamt it?
For the first time, I cried missing my own grandparents
Never had a chance to meet them
Or at least one grandmother who was too old to entertain us or we got to know her
I was probably six or seven when she died
What do I learn?
That grandparents are equivalent to presence? wisdom? Unconditional love?
Have I ever felt it, not knowing them all this while?
I do.
When my parents recall the memory of their father and mother with aching fondness
They are our grandparents
They're old and they simply leave when its time
But someone grieve of their loss
Because they are their own father, own father
...and no matter how old they are
You can't help but miss them, remember them
...and when you do, you revert to this child-form
Eyes wide in bewilderment
Aching for the calussed hand to take your own
Of protection, of guidance, of boundless affection
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