When your mother turns 70, you still her baby.
You never age, but she keeps ageing.
Her wrinkled skin and greying hair, Call out your name,
But you still ignore as your earphones Sing.
You buy the blue Ray-ban but she loses her sight.
You cut the cake but she wonders, ‘Would you still like her payasam with a few raisins in’?
She likes the red, the blue and the green.
But her life is now pale and serene, Somedays black and some nights dark, but you,
You just fail to notice.
She clutches the 70s frame, and dreams in the slumber, a golden rain.
You come home back and she lays in comforter, her eye lids closed.
You touch her face but she is now ice.
You take the frame and see it rains, you splashed water and she giggled like a maiden.
It rains outside your window pane,. But you are wet inside the heart, It is Your pain.
Happy Mother’s day to our moms, grand moms, aunts and all of those men and women who have mothered us throughout our lives.