Once upon a time, I too loved to rhyme.
I searched through doors, and beneath the earthen floors
To find the latest theme, out of fancy dreams,
And held them strong in the brain, till it reached my pen.
One fine morning light, made me feel so bright.
I found another theme, a poem with no scheme.
A door in street number nine, the house was new in line.
I peeked inside the door, a casual way to explore.
I saw a man too round, he sat kissing the ground.
He sniffed through the floor, till he reached the door.
He looked up to see me stand, his hair had dust and sand.
Hey who are you young boy, you look like my toy.
He giggled with no cause, I stood there in a pause.
A funny man indeed, he looked like a perplexed seed.
His eyes were dull and lost as if they had no cost.
I quietly slipped inside, opening the door wide.
He was still in thoughts, searching through those pots.
I walked inside his rooms, amid the spherical fumes.
Test tubes scattered around, over the dusty ground.
My eyes went through the walls, I saw few golden balls.
Few photographs in frames, with different blocks of names.
I gazed through each one there, beneath the dusty layer.
I saw one picture blurred, and read the chain of words
That was written in bold, bright yet looked so old.
Late Sam D'costa it read, I was frozen in dread.
Who this man was then, I thought he was insane.
I felt a gust of air, brushing through my hairs.
It had an icy touch as if I was being watched.
I turned around in fear but saw no one was there.
I stumbled slowly in aghast, walked out through the dust.
The house was barren now, I kept wondering how
Can this be true? I did what I could do,
I tried to run to the door but slipped off on the floor.
The door was closed in a blink, I got no span to think.
I stood there frozen still, like those blocks of hills.
I felt a whisper then, someone touched my brain.
I heard a laughter loud, amid the fuming cloud.
Hey you little boy, you look like my toy.
Don't be scared of me, come here when you are free.
I am a ghost indeed, but I too have my needs.
I need a mate to talk to, I need a friend to walk.
I have been locked up here, floating in this air.
I got no love no care, no one gave my share.
I died in a chemical blast, now those tales are past.
You are like my son, trust me I have no one.
I will love you true, as much as I can do.
Don't be scared again, I am not insane.
Call me uncle o dear, you can come in here
Whenever you miss me, or when you are free.
Uncle Sam will wait, for my little Albeit.
You can leave today, it's too late a day.
Your parents must worry a lot, you are the one they got
With intense love and care, do value their share.
We will meet again, in this dusty lane.
My ears were red by now, like those senseless cows
I lost my brain to think, perhaps I forgot to blink.
I walked out through the door, now with a different store.
A different vibe has grown, to empower over the throne,
The throne that holds my mind, now it made me blind.
It was Uncle Sam, the one with the maroon tam,
His thoughts had filled my soul and my brain as a whole.
My poem had got its theme, and it was not a dream.
I hope you liked it then, my thoughts that held my pen.
Uncle Sam must-read, it is dedicated indeed.
Now do let me leave, still many thoughts to weave.
I will be back again, with new thoughts insane.
A typewriter lay in the corner,Reminding of old thoughts and yonder,It had memories,Of old or golden stories.I knew my dad used those,To type letters or prose,He wrote love letters to my mother,And stories to reporters.It lay in the dustAnd had got rust.After my dad’s death,His