Rocking Chair

By Kirtiman Hazarika

If I was something you could use, 

I'd choose to be your rocking chair. 

My wooden seat so worn for wear, 

Would hold you in my rhythm's ruse. 

You'd rock and clasp my battered arms, 

Safe and happy in my embrace, 

As Sleep comes to you without a trace, 

I'll rock you by with my stolid charms. 

My back shall fall and rise again, 

To gently say that I am there, 

To keep you here without a care, 

I'll be your Brook; more than those men, 

Who came and went without a chance, 

To learn your sweet slumbering breath. 

No I shall not part, not to the Death, 

Or Rot, or further beyond that Horizon's glance, 

I am your chair, though worn for wear, 

I shall hold you close, without a care, 

With all the time to sit and stare, 

With all my strength to live and share.

By Kirtiman Hazarika