Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Homecoming




How  mum came across the verandah,
zigzagging through the furniture so airily.
She ran, arms held out, like parenthesis,
holding all the love within.

She looked slender, beautiful, and radiant,
like a  new day with fresh finery,
and from her brimming eyes flowed the love,
like spring water, pure and unrestrained.

My life at the hostel was good, carefree, lovely.
I sang, I loved, I worked, I lived and often
dreamed of my home, my garden, and my kitchen,
which smelled of warm bread, honey and mother.

But every time she welcomed me with those clinching arms
I realized how I did not miss her the way she deserved;
often forgetting to write letters that she awaited,
oblivious that her continents were cast apart,
and came together only with those blue scrawls that I sent...

Now that she is gone, I miss her like she missed me,
and yearn to see her coming from that kitchen
humming softly, her eyes shining, her face gleaming.

I miss those outstretched arms, the smile, the embrace,
her warm bread fragrance.

 And the home-coming…




© Nazia Mallick


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