by Atul Chandra Sarkar
(Remembering Mom on her 24th Death Anniversary today)
A nap in Mom’s lap,
Could there be a couch more cozy?
To listen to a fairy tale,
Watch her cheeks turn rosy;
Not a pillow, not a quilt,
Not a warmer required to warm,
Protection from chill and blaze,
Protection from hailstorm.
Cuddling, hugging relentlessly,
Restless at the slightest distress,
Cooling a hurt with a tender kiss,
Wiping off pain with a warm caress.
Nappies wet or terribly stinky,
Rashes, fever, or vomited milk-feed,
Nothing ever irritates her who is,
Incarnated to fulfill every need.
A mom can be poor, but not her lap,
A priceless cradle none can buy,
A hide, a shelter, a playground,
For which siblings vie and cry.
An amulet-pendant closest to my heart,
My Mom, my first love, I cannot part,
Before I saw the sun, moon and stars,
She felt the beats of my heart.
Wonder why mothers descend,
Without wings from Paradise,
Why so much pain and agony borne,
To see a sparkle in her baby’s eyes.
In the last lap of life,
When sunset surrenders to night,
Mom reappears to console,
To ease the soul for its next flight.
Last updated April 14, 2015