She sat tall,
Holding the steaming mug of cocoa -
Her head tilted against the sunlight,
As she gazed unseeing yonder.
Her mind scurried through,
Her colorful memory lane -
At 60, she felt neither young,
Nor old.
Just living - alive.
The grey mane shone against
The setting sun,
Its rays almost lilting,
Against the blue rims of her glasses.
The hands that held the cocoa mug,
Had the markings of hard-work and effort -
The veins stood out,
Muscular and strong
While the red painted nails,
Added the fire to the soul.
Her face was strong too -
Almost in defiance of the ways of the world.
Her lips wore a knowing smile,
That hinted at the lessons learnt
That were to be passed on to her grandchild.
And as she gazed yonder,
Lost in thoughts,
Weaved with silence -
Her eyes suddenly chanced upon
A much loved form
Walking stooped towards her coffee shop.
The slightly balding head,
Enconsed in a familiar berret.
As he drew near,
She drew a deep breath too -
The rush of memories gushed by,
As she swirled them over,
In her mind's eye.
Their eyes met
As he entered,
The last 25 years stood still
Between them -
As time froze
And the seconds vanished.
As he walked towards her -
He was the same Cadet who'd
Proposed to her
On the banks of the Nile -
Where they had made
Their own love isle.
He hugged her
And she breathed in the familiar cologne
That defined her husband to her -
This man, who had matched her rhythm,
Everyday in the last four decades.
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