(Wote this poem many years ago, and I have kept editing it since. )
Wheelchair tucked into the table
she can hardly breathe, and yet
he tries to feed her smaller morsels
he tries to feed her smaller morsels
God knows how many jobs
she had worked
to feed him
Her head wobbles every so often
and the tissues keep falling off
she had worked
to feed him
Her head wobbles every so often
and the tissues keep falling off
He slowly tucks them back
She can hardly eat
all she wants is to spend some time
with her boy
before it all comes
crumbling down
He holds a glass of water.
she sips a drop or two
and shakes her head
the effort
takes a toll on her weary life
The day is dying bit by bit and
the sky is probably crimson red outside
with her boy
before it all comes
crumbling down
He holds a glass of water.
she sips a drop or two
and shakes her head
the effort
takes a toll on her weary life
The day is dying bit by bit and
the sky is probably crimson red outside
Spring is slowly making its way,
they say it brings hope and life for the
new and the old
Days dissolve into dusk
nights roll into dawns;
the coherence
simple and easy, caring
like doting mothers
and loving sons
The tissues keep falling off,
and God knows why but
I got tears in my eyes
--
Anant Dhavale
Copyright © Anant Dhavale
