urn

How many sunshines

And rainy days did I miss

Of your daily life?

 

In this pretty urn

Is all that remains of you.

I wonder which one.

 

The one that smiled

In my memories of her

Or the scowl and frown.

 

Did I really see

The person you paraded

Or the masquerade?

 

Will I ever know

The genesis of your smile

Now hidden away

 

In your everyday life

That I missed all these years.

I said: “I love you!”

 

Now I’m not so sure.

 

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Such a story

Scintillating –

The intrigue, the suspense

Riveting words that spellbound

 

Then the climax

Bittersweet ending

Still savouring the words

Of that pivotal chapter

 

A book we can’t put down.

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I made this for you

Who have not nursed a child

Though mother to all

 

Who held up a torch

When I tripped in the dark

You guided my way

 

You were born for this

To pick up the broken parts

Make them whole again

 

Your little bundle

Is wrapped in those of us

Whose lives cross your path

 

For the love of a mother

Can be in one woman to another

 

( A special dedication to special women in my life on mother’s day)

hands touch

She knew exactly what he meant when he said that he felt grounded.

It was that sense of escape from the daily grind, from the onslaught of the noise in your head and the responsibilities that handcuffed you in claustrophobic spaces.

After all this time, like the little town, she was still his refuge, the one he thought of when he had thoughts to spare. She alone understood his unspoken words.

They were her words too.

Though miles apart, she felt his longing.

She understood how to make him smile again.

That little town, stood as proxy for her heart.