It’s just another special day for her. A pale, wrinkled and lean body rests on the wheel chair and worries. What would have been so painful to the sky that it weeps for days ? She pities on the dark gray clouds above. What if the little bulbul’s nest amongst the weeds withers away with the downpour? All she knows is to worry and to wait for her sajna to return except for the times her conscience sticks to her..a few times when she remembers of losing whole of a family.
Bas inna sa mera fasana hai...tennu geet hijar da sunana hai..
Palko pe jo tune moti dekhe..dhage me pirona hai..
Younger was time when he used to listen to her geet and sat besides when eyes were salty. They used to speak words of faith. Now, the gray eyes hazily stare at the broken walls of her place where the first brick was laid with care. Her days go special for once she had loved. This sajni has thought of living special days and hopes of a future with every song of hers and so she worries. She dips her early biscuits in anticipation although her soul is on the verge of leaving an ugly cage.
Menu mere rab da vasta hai..dur..bahut durr chale jana hai.
Ud jan de mennu..panchi ban kho jan de is khule aasmaan me.
