memories of a mother

there are thousands of props
appertaining to prosperity and success
to be trialed in this earth and life

also there are mouths
in manifold
accounting your own siblings’
misdeeds

but what you have to ask
to the earth
that is fatigued by
self applause
of haste money and prejudices
rather striping off the life
which is entangled
in delusion and affection

rising from the ashes
albeit it is not your judgment
to melt down again in the ashes
perhaps this is the invincible rule
crafted by this carnal world
accepting whom
your journey is settled hither
from the birth

the momentary dripping eyes
do not see the life’s void
and do not see the life’s sores
in this manner
there are also the delighted populace
without those sores and void
whom are rejoicing ceremonies
day and night

but raising from above all
these your memory aches
in the core of perception and feeling

while disposing my introduction
as an egocentric person by myself
perhaps your struggle’s
devastating recollections wept
enough in the ether

and when you excuse
for your offspring’s’ absurdity
and earth’s affection
that very fragrance of pardon
makes you a mother with honor
and in the realm of ignorance
we shall be there
becoming children ever

paths are still there
those you had walked
and so as the hedges
hillocks and furrows
o how much is
the sarcasm of passing celebrations
on your absences
that was the rusting process
of your body and marrows
caused by the monologue of pulverization

for the passion of steamed
and scalding determinations
in the compulsion of penury
engaged yourself ever to see
the fruits borne
on the trees of your offspring’s deeds
and how much those became
a crop of contentment
your harvester hands are ever silent

although the earth has got
an opportunity to learn that
for life it is the passion
carved within psyche
that contributes excess energy
than the healthiness of bones and marrows
what should be excellent
than this gift that you ever wish
to present to the world.

when the breath was broken
you were wonder-struck
with the blunt sensitivities
of your siblings
perhaps those nonplussing moments
have spoken a thousand answers

when reaching to second person
sensitivities use to turn in trashes
which are to be experienced
burning oneself
in that very fire of perception

in the monopoly of those sensitivities
the mourners
celebrated your funeral rites
your siblings
shined by your womb
your milk
your caretaking
and by your blessings

now they own only numb hearts
to experience your absence
yet somewhere in the darkness
somewhere in the void
your shortage hurts

a couple of eyes
shall always illuminate you
within it’s’ rooms
and in the winter of life also
they shall maintain the
verdure of your memories.

(In the memory of my late mother who was remained unconscious for seven days in the North Bengal Clinic of Siliguri and died on 11th November 2009).