Of Mother and Daughter

Of Mother and Daughter
I stood in the corridor, just outside the class;
Transfixed to the spot, as I held the sight before.
There, he came strolling towards me,
My best friend since we were three.
Hopefully to certify a relationship that was yet to be.

Last night he had called to declare his love,
But surprise and awe had tangled my nerves.
Sputtering and stammering words incoherent,
I couldn’t fully convey my feelings intent.
Couldn't confess my feelings of love that our friendship has long augment.

A crooked smile tugged at his lips,
His mussed hair and the familiar cowlick.
Last night’s frenzy now fogged my mind,
Hitched my breath and pounded my ears.
And I stood staring at my friend as he morphed into my lover.

Memory’s river flooded my mind,
Our years of togetherness came floating by.
Locking our eyes, we silently hoped,
That our time-stained Joy, Anger and Sorrow,
Would plough the field of our Love’s tomorrow.


Now he stood proudly before me,
His palpable love setting my soul alight.
He twined his fingers softly with mine,
Like he did that day we buried father,
When we were no more than just nine.

With his head bent forward, his forehead on mine,
A sudden peace washed over him.
Happiness and Fear danced in his eyes;
His face a canvas of myriad emotions.
A perfect reflection of my own impressions.

At the self-same moment I recognized the look,
The one I had seen in my mother’s eyes.
Trust and Love sewn together with Peace,
Would shine in her eyes as she talked of Jim.
Or when she would look at my father, before him.

Understanding plundered my thoughts,
How I wronged my mother’s heart.
Hurt and angry on my father’s behalf, I had lashed out at her;
Deaf to what she had been telling so far:
‘Love is boundless, unconditional and free; and it has given a second chance to me!’

Seven lonely years sucked at her life,
Seven lonely years withered her soul,
Until mother met Jim who brought back Love.
With utmost care Love had bloomed,
And then she gave birth to Hope!

This inexplicable strength, power and courage,
Born of Love’s depth and faith,
Has touched the core of my soul’s being;
And has schooled me in understanding my mother’s feelings.
That Love is born not to die, but to breed in one the love of Life.

The House

He remodelled the house for a lacsome money,
The house that stands at the end of the dirty alley.
The cow shed overlooks the ornate main door shy,
Urchins play amidst cow dung and flies.
The house shines garishly with its white-tiled exterior,
It adds to his pride and makes him feel superior.
Tall and scrawny like a narrow piece of cake,
The house awaits to tumble at a legal inspection's wake.
Three years of savings he spent to rise above
The tacky poor neighbours with no taste or class.
The red-oxide flooring was ripped away with marble,
Friends and relatives sighed and appreciated his bauble.

Seven months and ten days it took to remodel the house;
The house that stands like his ego profuse.
Orphaned and poor, his childhood had lured
Him to own land and be secured.
Money cured his unassuring lack,
He didn't care for any law's smack.
Orange and purple filled the walls of his imagination,
Though unkempt articles didn't add to the reformation.
Hailing from the suburbs in far off East,
The  proud house had his identity fixed.
Teenager from a village, alone and abandoned;
He survived the city; a man ripened and hardened.

But fickle Fate with an unscrupulous smile,
Trapped him in a cancerous vice.
Metabolic dysfunction and a malignant liver,
Rocked his world, his forehead burnt with fever.
Anxious and agitated, and distraught with fear,
His wife strived to fetch him every possible elixir.
Money escaped like a mirage in desert;
Her aching tears bought no relief from Fate pervert.
Addled and hapless, his wife begged for help
From friends and relatives who sighed and sidestepped.

That Ego and Pride—trifles to life;
That money humbles the archest brows;
That perfect luxury equals no love;
Dawned on him, and she thought thereof
To sell the house; the one that stood
In the dingiest and shabbiest neighbourhood.
The house now snuggles a tacky poor family,
Who saved another with their classless money.

If money be the grave, and ego be the dirt,
Let Life be the wind that blows over us.