Mother:Always

 

Mother: Always

Picking at your winter skin

dried on the underside of your

middle-aged feet and

engrossed in a tale of murder

while working at your daily bread

you suddenly start

and wonder what are you doing

in the dead of the night

while death might be lurking around

and there will be no trace of you

after an interval

of zero to infinite time.

The perception fever is

without heat or fire

Just it won't allow

you to sit back light

and watch the passing scenes

that have roots and a soil

to keep them bound

to a reality that appears almost real.

But after you have looked for

the dead amidst the darkened trees

and the lonely looking paths

in the bed of dead leaves

and in the familiar corners,

After you have lost and pined

for a forty-year-old long togetherness

brimming with more love

than you can ever give.

You look upon life

with more indifference

than yesterday

with people staging in

and staging out

to their own music,

your longings still manifesting

in the smell of old sarees

and faded bangles

and an invisible presence

in the corner of the degenerating house.

-Niharika Mishra

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