I look at her,

Her hair is more grey than black,

I hadn’t seen it,

I must not have paid attention.


I look at her,

She’s working,

For so many years, and still, today,

She is working.


I look at her,

She has a book by her table,

A novel.

How could I forget,

That’s her favourite pass time activity.

Even in this hustle,

She has it by her side.

Says a lot, doesn’t it?


I look at her,

The wrinkles have increased.

From the time I had last noticed,

They have increased.

She looks tired, still working.


I look at her,

She doesn’t laugh like she used to before,

Even if she does,

There’s so much sadness in it.

I should rather say,

She forces it?!?!


I look at her,

Her hands, lean,

Her face, all dried up,

Her hair, all messed up,

Her voices, cracks, at times.


I look at her,

She is angry now,

She starts blabbering.

Uh-ah not in Malayalam,

But English,

She’s my Shashi Tharoor.


I look at her,

She’s laughing now,

That laugh after the volcanic eruption,

Joke, I cracked a joke,

That made her laugh her heart out.

I look at her,

I look in the mirror,

I realized,

I am the exact copy of her,

I am a part of her,

And I am proud to be her daughter.


I look at her,

Every single time I look at her,

I realize how much I love her,

With each heartbeat,

For the life she has given me,

I am going to love her,

Like I did yesterday,

Like I do today,

Like I will, every coming morrow.


PS: If I don’t pick up calls, or text you back, feel free to give me a visit. ( Let me know in comment whom it is about)

PPS: Don’t copy or do such harmful things. As much love there is in it, there are also chances of being thrown out of the house. 

Prathiusha Poduval

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