I have no picture anywhere of my Mom 

There were many but Dad would be disturbed so he put them all away

Like he put away all his poetry, I’d seen dozens of notebooks full of it

But when he passed I found none, and I remembered what he’d said once 

“Satvir, Im going to burn all I wrote, people have written masterpieces and left quietly 

Who am I to flaunt my petty rants

My silly adulation of beauty

That everyone else can equally see”

 

One small passport sized fading photograph of Mom we’d sometimes see

On his writing table, that was enough for him

 

I’ve no pictures to show my children or my friends how beautiful she was

None where an oblong Bindi shone on her calm narrow brow

Or the beauty mark on her left cheek

Her honey golden eyes or her dark wavy hair

Her loving gaze 

Her rare smile

Her work worn hands for she could never rest

Perhaps she knew she had little time

Often when all slept in the night she’d roast the flour and make ‘pinnis’

We’d see thalis layered with them in the morning

No surprise if some nights she spent polishing the furniture

Or painting a door gone shabby

Or cut and stitched the festival dress for the young daughter of the next door Aunty

 

There was time for everything but none for a picture that I could keep

And get it out when I missed her or talk to when there’s no one else

No time to tell us her journey was done

Only to leave us all just stunned

 

Like children counting stars and wondering where the first one went

Like watching fluttering butterflies, as they disappear before your sight

Like a rock we mark for ourselves but under the sea it slips

I never realised when she became will o the wisp 

 

Ahhh Mom 

Happy Mothers Day