In an intense, poignant, serene and soulful poem, Anumita explores waiting, with all its expectancies and hopes from beyond life.

It’s Sunday and I wait,
I will soon hear your footsteps.
The right one is heavier than the left 
it hurts after the fall.
As you skirt around me softly
and kneel down in pain.

It’s noon and I wait,
the church bells are ringing.
I can feel the wind picks up
announcing your presence to me.
Arms laden with blooms of purple hue
you will bring just for me.

It’s frigid and I wait,
it snowed throughout the night.
The snow scatters around you
as you brush them off my face.
Your hands cover every inch
and its warmth penetrates.

You talk and I wait,
the baritone of your voice.
Wishful wonders of our days
you will so warmly narrate.
Will bask in the splendour of your stories
blissful and glowing.

Seasons change and I wait,
the fallen leaves have dried now.
Your face has new lines
that deepen as your smile.
Wish to touch you just one more time
tracing along the contours.

You will leave and I wait,
for the footsteps on Sunday at noon.
Your fingers pressed on my name
the cold slab of white marble.
Your tears soak into the earth
a promise to be together again.

Picture design by Anumita Roy, Different Truths

Anumita Roy

Anumita Roy is an artist at heart and legal/medical interpreter by profession. She creates word images in her verses and loves to write short stories. Mother of children in the spectrum, she advocates special needs issues in whichever way possible. Born in India, brought up in several countries, makes her a true global citizen. She now lives in the Columbus, Ohio, with her family and follows her passion for writing and advocacy being the Managing Editor of Different Truths.

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