MOTHER AND I … … A Tribute



He, I hear, is terminally ill…

I rush from a city far

To be with the living god

Odor of life churned

In truth and hard earned.

He, indeed, is terminally ill…

I bear his blast of torpid times

Failing body’s morbid mimes

By his bed but I know the best

I’ll be sometime in a future test


As he is in my each recall…

Limpid, fearless, standing tall

Loved, friendly, compassionate

Spirit deep, sharp immense.

He now lies terminally ill…

The seer he was is witnessing

In quiet eerie, looks fixed

Through nights stretched

And lost sleep

Resonating of scriptures I read

And It then happened

In quick succession

His withdrawal calm

The last breath

Our wait…

The howling silence


And cremation.


*   *   *

The news drew the shallow heirs

Commiserating, posing, red weird

Stooping low, seeming lower

With eyes stuck on assets meager

Broaching sly their soft claims

Illiberal, covet strange

Set on matters odd

In those hours of pain


They trigger brawls

The woman faints of the free-for-all

At the men she’d nurtured

On her love, with care

Were clawing now at her remains

As enemies sworn, pitched against

Heartlessly, in sub human ways.

Their game’s foiled with some wit

Calibrated drama, deliberately knit

It saddened us

Still at the crease

In space secured

Convalesce in peace

Mother and I –  in rally

Devoted, thankful…

Succour each, happily.


*   *   *      *   *   *


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