It was march; the blooming of thoughts
and she came, sat quite near me
told that I had changed,
suerly thought I, not a child anymore
and whatmore ,my shrivelled skin,
gifted by the scorching sun,
dummy eyes covered by a foggy mist of grief,
splitted hair,dry lips
not so flat anymore waist;
not so feathery fingers;
I was a friend,a daughter ,a dreamer,
but no more; now a mother, a believer.
She nodded , not quite near…
a sower, a reaper, a giver;
but what did you earn?
Not quite different anymore!
What! Oh what ?Not different?
I told; I toil and moil
from the break of dawn
till the night stars peep…
Ok! I said; I wore my old glasses,
the neon sandals,the high bottom
jeans , the silly tube top…
And she nodded, not quite near…
The glossy nail polish, the mascara,
a ribbon:- scarlet red, sunny smile,
not near, not near…
I coloured my hair pink;
my lips were rosy red,
I could smell myself as chocolate,
And then I realised…
Slowly, unwillingly,she was
turning me into something unfair…
I never thought to be this idiot…
She turned me to myself!
But who was she anyways?
A silent whispering voice,
nothing more or less…
nothing true or best.
I looked back, it was noon,
they will come, my life’s boons,
the kitchen dishes, the laundry soap,
the broom, the bucket, the dry mop:-
waiting for me; a book, a pen
a brush, some paint:-
they all slept in a lullaby,
a sound sleep for years like me.
I washed the myself
out of me into nowhere…
Just a starry void of fantacy
Tears of heavens sorrow.
But her, her voice still
inside me, whispering
a murmur of joy and grief.
The curtains covered,
the walls around me
the curtains of a smile,
the walls of pride…
But who was I kidding?
Who was she anyways?
A silent voice whispering within me
nothing more or less.
(Note: From a mother’s perspective)
