‘In Her Late Forties’
“She carries the weight of the day
on her bristled brows;
In her thick henna scented hair;
dark as the night and soft as cotton,
she hides her melancholic hours and
She wakes before the break of dawn,
before the sun descends on his throne
to illuminate the skies and cast countless rays of light,
on the fields and on the seeds gingerly sown.
During the day,she strides hither and tither
tirelessly in the pace of a hurricane wind,
enslaved by her endless chores;
she will embrace them with much grace,
like the perennial waves of the Ganga;
ever flowing and ever falling on her shores.
At mid-noon,like a mountain snake after feasting will she lie;
on the cold floor on an autumn day,peaceful and quiet,
she will rest her eyes.
Feed her your love and praises;
like twinkling stars her wrinkled cheeks will glow;
feed her your ire screams and bitter words;
like heavy rain from the far-flung skies,her forgiveness will pour.
When twilight nears,she will light the lamp
and with folded palms offer her prayers;
and when she will close her eyes and be lost in her devotion;
divine becomes her.
A peaceful silence; will fill the air
accompanied by the sweet sandal wood redolence
emanating from the burning incense.
At dusk,before i close my eyes
to churn dreams and memories;
She will plant a kiss on my temples;
regardless the wrath of the day,whose moisture will wash away
my mind’s chatter and all my childish worries.
Sweet smelling flowers blossoms when she smiles;
during the warmest summer day, she is spring
and the evening’s pride.
Time; the wicked and unkind will take her away;
in my heart till death becomes me, her memories shall stay,
and in my ears, like thunder her voice shall roar;
for she is grace, she is hope;
she is my divine, and love’s breathing
Many thanks to Kaushika of Haryana, India for submitting this poem in honour of her mother.