MOTHER AND I … ... A Tribute

He, I hear, is terminally ill…

I rush from a city far
To be with the living god
Odor of life churned
In truth and hard earned.

He, indeed, is terminally ill…

I bear his blast of torpid times
Failing body’s morbid mimes
By his bed but I know the best

I’ll be sometime in a future test

As he is in my each recall…

Limpid, fearless, standing tall

Loved, friendly, compassionate

Spirit deep, sharp immense.

He now lies terminally ill…

The seer he was is witnessing
In quiet eerie, looks fixed

Through nights stretched

And lost sleep

Resonating of scriptures I read

And It then happened

In quick succession
His withdrawal calm

The last breath

Our wait…

The howling silence

Death…

And cremation.

*   *   *

The news drew the shallow heirs

Commiserating, posing, red weird

Stooping low, seeming lower

With eyes stuck on assets meager
Broaching sly their soft claims
Illiberal, covet strange
Set on matters odd

In those hours of pain

They trigger brawls
The woman faints of the free-for-all
At the men she'd nurtured

On her love, with care
Were clawing now at her remains
As enemies sworn, pitched against
Heartlessly, in sub human ways.

Their game's foiled with some wit
Calibrated drama, deliberately knit
It saddened us

Still at the crease
In space secured

Convalesce in peace

Mother and I –  in rally
Devoted, thankful

Succour each, happily.

*   *   *      *   *   *