Feeding the stomach up on the chilled freezed rice,
with little of boiled vegetable, and a potato so small in size,
I miss the food mother used to serve, with love,
and the way I used to shout, "salt is too less, too more"
She would plead me to eat, yet no one cares now,
as I sit alone in the table, with memories of mom...
Who used to offer juice, as soon as a tired me would enter,
barging into the room, after a tiresome day,
throwing things hither-tither, for mother to clear,
without no care, without no fear,
of what she must be going through!
Room so clean, it used to be,
when wrappers did I used to throw,
and bits of paper, and messy hairs entangled,
all in a row.
Poor mother would clean them all,
at times, so angry at times
without complaints, she would take them all and say,
"God knows what you will do,
when I am there not any more"
I used to pray to make me stay alone,
to keep away from tantrums and angry groans
yet never did I know that day would soon come
and I would actually be alone in the home.
She is still there, yet so away,
not knowing when would she return,
I lay alone in the empty bed with memories of mother
wishing, "Please make her return soon"
may the void be filled by this noon...
