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My mother

I met an old lady today,

She was walking in the street,

And holding a bouquet in her hand,

A flower dropped down from it,

I picked it and gave it to her.

She was in an unconsciousness,

holding my hands she mumbled,

Will you come to my home before I die.

I was stunned and in fear, as she came closer,

And whispered, “I live across this street, my dear.”

I asked her in anxiousness, are you saying this for real?

She cracked up listening to me,

As I was a joke she never heard before,

She held my hand and walked me to her home.

When we reached there, I saw mirrors on the wall,

I saw pictures of her skydiving and romping,

travelling with all the elderly buddies of her,

She was abiding her life,

occupying it without any dilemmas.

I asked her didn’t she find it hard to be like you are in your 20s,

She said all her life she never actually counted.

Adding it up she confided me,

her mother father died when she was five,

And from that time she decided,

that she would never waste her life.

The time I was adoring the beauty of her living,

She started heavily breathing.

I was so frightened that I started whimpering,

She looked in my eyes and implored,

Why are you shivering?

I confessed her and apologised,

for not taking her to the doctor.

She kissed me on my forehead as she answered,

I never wanted you to leave me,

I wanted somebody to be there.

To put this bouquet at my funeral.

I came alone, I lived alone, but now you are my daughter.

Saying all the things above the lady died,

I found a mother that day, an hour of connection,

She left me nothing but her memories and compassion.

-Riya Shah

By Ray


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