an ode to my mom

the scissors – she owns it. the only material possession which i have of her.

i wrote this poem while she was lying sick in bed. and added another stanza 6 months after her death. everything here truly happened. if there is a word which best describes my mother – it’s hard work. she died 4 years ago. one guy said (can’t remember his name), “there are some things you’ll spend a lifetime getting over with”. this is one of them for me.

i discovered this poem just 3 weeks ago, stashed away in the draft folder of my email add (thank, goodness! this had survived.) i wrote a lot of poems in my journal which i left behind in the province. and probably, my family had started fires using those pages.

this poem finally budged me to create this blog. maybe, to devote this 1st entry for her. after all, next to god i owe her my life.

here’s the poem:

a month before…
she climbs the roof for patches
rain are passing thru the leaks
sons and nephew are useless
can’t they see the house a mess?

with ailing hands, body pain’d
she’s up there, the roof to mend
feet on the stairs, limbs bent
’tis more job she can tend.

but this needs be done or else
the rain will soak all their gears
though a woman, ag’d with years
work! she must, despite the tears.

a little earlier…
in the village, everywhere
see her smile go sweeter
as she tell of son so dear
earn degree this semester.

oh, what joy! this news do bring.
how long she dreamed for this thing
at last, it’s here; a real ding
makes her heart and soul to sing.

this very day…
she is sick; very much ill!
joy before, no more to feel,
bind on bed; who can tell
this lady, what might befell?

six months after…
pain, anguish and agony
life is gone, was it set free?
relief, is not hard to see
but was there another way?