A Birthday Without Mother

Birthdays cease to be special when we are older, much older. This time I recalled how mother used to wish HAPPY BIRTHDAY to everybody by singing over phone or even in person. She had learnt that birthday wishes were to be communicated that way...by singing. And her that one line contained  utmost love a heart can carry, it was love in its purest form. Thousand moments, thousand small little things come to mind when we think of our mothers. We seem to wonder how we are even alive without her. A mother is the most familiar face on earth, ever dearest, ever closest. When we are not lost in the mad rush of life and are sitting alone, that face, those memories haunt us badly. Something revolts inside, something refuses to accept the truth that, that beloved mother is no more.This wistful longing, this pining will stay with us till death may be. And the eyes will always look for her and burst into tears remembering her innumerable love gestures, and the truth will hurt all the more...all the more...irthdays cease to be special when we are older, much older. This time I recalled how mother used to wish HAPPY BIRTHDAY to everybody by singing over phone or even in person. She had learnt that birthday wishes were to be communicated that way...by singing. And her that one line contained  utmost love a heart can carry, it was love in its purest form. Thousand moments, thousand small little things come to mind when we think of our mothers. We seem to wonder how we are even alive without her. A mother is the most familiar face on earth, ever dearest, ever closest. When we are not lost in the mad rush of life and are sitting alone, that face, those memories haunt us badly. Something revolts inside, something refuses to accept the truth that, that beloved mother is no more.This wistful longing, this pining will stay with us till death may be. And the eyes will always look for her and burst into tears remembering her innumerable love gestures, and the truth will hurt all the more...all the more...

Emptiness all the Way



It seems right

to think that forty nine years 

of the life 

mother took as she went away,

the rest only is a slow forward journey towards the obvious

I am only bidding my time

till the that day, that moment.

How did the bull reach the empty

bosom of the river? 

In search of food? 

The journey from high ground

must have been unnerving.

Yet it is there,with downcast face

munching on grass

pretty oblivious to the surroundings.

The purposelessness grows in an uneasy pace

as the days pass by,

The grass on other grounds grows

greener only increasing the dimension

of the empty spaces,

Even a thorough sweeping of the corners of your inmost rooms 

yields nothing but a void.

One should have foreseen 

such days, and kept in readiness, but who bothers to imagine darkness and empty roads

when the sun shines bright

and the sparrows fill the air with their chirping!