Fields are green,
Skyscrapers are stand still higher,
and roads are busy fast.
Me pretending and symbolising them
breathful deep bliss.
And the other moment, compelling my soul to
to awake to Holy Gita’s truth of life.

I was beholding
the previous starry night,
shadows of huge dreaded clouds to follow,
the next morning”Morning of 26th May’.

All swallows, in the dark mouth worldly.
A part of pain known
and fresh to the moving time
in the constant varying shapes.
A stagnant moment, shrieks and cries

May be unseen, unsounded, duppen
under the huge helplessness.
Creator of mine – A dying mother.

Once I had pushed the memory back.
Covering it with beautiful flowers and leaves.
Leaves dried flowers faded and taken away by winds.
Then I decorated it with mud and sand,
but the rain washed it clean.

And everytime I cover it is uncovered,
‘Why do you want to cover me – daughter Meena’
It gives me pain; I cannot forget you
Tears rolled on.

Why do you want to forget me?
Because I cannot see, talk to you.
But you are seeing and talking to me.
I am in you, always.
You are right Mummy.
I am living with you
so as my daughter will
after me.
Mothers do not die.