Posted by: Ron DuBour | June 26, 2014

DYING AT 85~by Jernail S Anand




By and by
all the strength rolled out;
and memories filled the veins
instead of blood;

eyes lost visions
but had invited a millions dreams;

she often thought of
him and her,
and her so many great grand children
at 85

she had so much to look
forward and backward;
a whole family
so many sons, so many daughters,
all settled in life;

and now it appeared
time had come;
and one by one her grand children
started coming to her mind;

she was fondly remembering them
while they were busy
in the markets
buying balloons for their kids;

living far away from her,
how could any one come to her
console her, and make her smile
and refund even a fraction of the
love and care she had lavish
on them;;

none came; impersonal calls on mobile
enquired from her son
about her death;

from this busy life,
a working wife and small kids;
who could spare time for the poor soul?
Priests were meant
for such people:

they would come to the village
after she would have settled down
in her grave;
and with a moist eye,
pour some flowers on her grave;

focus their eyes; and try to
assemble me from my bones;

so nice of you, my sons
my daughters and grand kids;
love is not to be refunded;
wishing for such a refund is sacrilege.

copyright dr j.s. anand@2014

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