I complain.
Grandmoms,
All three of you.
Why do you keep on troubling me,
With your beatific smiles.
Coming back and again,
In my dreams,
And telling me you all,
Every single one,
Loves me, loved me and shall do for ever.
Why do you do this?
What is your agenda.
You are all seasoned cookies,
You don't act on whims,
You only act on love.
What is your agenda?
Do not say its love,
I am not as deep,
As your depths.
Hardik Mahesh Vaidya.
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