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
Tweet @PratzPoduval
