Yesterday (8th September) happened to be the fifty-first death anniversary of my mother who zeroed into a fragrant bunch of soft and quaint memories bordering on the cherished and ingrained dreams of celestial unity.  The imperious hands of time had snatched her away from me at a time when I was little better than a vegetative piece of life. So, on every 8th September I have ample reasons to dwell on hallowed and graceful possibilities which would have propelled me to different levels of values, emotional compatibilities and experiences- so many unwonted avenues of sensitivities and sensualities indeed.

Now that I am retained in a Himalayan orphanage where the orphaned and unwanted children land up and get educated under the mighty magnificent shadow of the august peak of Mt. Kanchenjunga, yesterday I stumbled on a child who was found brooding on a piece of paper. His moist innocent eyes invited me to the piece of paper on which he had scribbled something in his inky moments of dejection. This is what he scribbled, reproduced verbatim. The lines are super charged and self-explanatory:

“Since I lost you my mom

Since I lost you my mom

I am facing the most painful time

Everywhere it seems silent

Birds have lost their songs

Though it is a difficult phase

I cannot stop but take a step forward

I keep walking

With your gentle memories safe in my heart

My strength and support when I falter

I miss you my mom.

I will not let anyone walk past

With his dirty feet through my private world

My mother, my dear mom!

Amidst thousands of flowers

I lost my one

Beautiful flower, where have you gone?

When I look to the star spangled skies

I miss you so much.

You are carved deep in me

I look for you here, there and everywhere

And wait in wordless hope for your return

Come back for once and dawn on my life

I keep waiting with hopes and silent prayers

With fingers crossed I hope

That we may be one as before

I am still waiting for you dear mom.”

 This may be an eloquent message for all the mothers who chose to leave behind their children on the busy blazing highways of life, jettisoning the emotional baggage to make it all afresh. Will they ever for a moment try to visualize the bottomless sadness and ineffable desolation in those innocent eyes? Will her hedonist days wind their ways to this tearless face?



Disclaimer: This poem has been reproduced with the permission of Dr. Alex Paikada

Image Credits: Bridget Coila Via Flickr(No changes have been made to the original image)

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