A Mother At The Crossroads
by S B Ray on April 3. © S B Ray, All rights reserved
At the crossroads,
Stood she, donning the sunset glow
On her mien of a mother,
A mother unsung-
Nonetheless a mother-
In her motherly poise.
Through my glass window
Told her motherly eyes
With a mother's persona,
An elderly woman's lonesome tale:
Emptiness of life,
Disavowed, abandoned
And desolate.
She,
With the motherly grace
Stretched, now frail mother's hands,
Palms open,
Voice quivering,
Uttered frailly with feeble lips :
'Son'!
Long many years gone,
Sang my mother
That musical note of warmth,
'Son',
Like mother of anyone,
Like this mother at the crossroads,
Which seemed so much my own!
Going pensively quiescent,
Dipped in a foggy muse,
Offered her some money-
Offering a handful for the while
To that mother's imagery,
A mother's embodiment
That uttered 'son'!
The car rolled away,
left the crossroads back,
Carried the connotation,
the blessed call of a mother,
Resonating many times:
'Son'!
'Son'!
'Son'!
Obsessed in mind,
Poignant with thoughts
Of that motherly woman
Who lipped 'son' while
gracefully looked with
Mother's eyes devine.
A hollow was sensed,
The heart felt knotted,
A vacuum engulfed mind,
A void came afresh-
That never ending longing
For my departed mother
Who Left behind
The cloak of her
Earthly life.
On a bright autumn day
As I passed by,
That crossroads again,
Searched with a curious eye
That graceful benefactress
Of that precious feeling:
calling me 'son'.
She was not there,
The wispy hopes belied,
It was a void again !
The bunyan tree,
Shed autumnal leaves
As it had witnessed
My tryst with a moment's mother.
Leaves, that paved the earth,
Were leaves of an obituary.
I heaved a sigh,
With heart a hermit of melancholy,
And thoughts downcast,
Rolled away my car
Leaving my mind there
At the crossroads.
Stood she, donning the sunset glow
On her mien of a mother,
A mother unsung-
Nonetheless a mother-
In her motherly poise.
Through my glass window
Told her motherly eyes
With a mother's persona,
An elderly woman's lonesome tale:
Emptiness of life,
Disavowed, abandoned
And desolate.
She,
With the motherly grace
Stretched, now frail mother's hands,
Palms open,
Voice quivering,
Uttered frailly with feeble lips :
'Son'!
Long many years gone,
Sang my mother
That musical note of warmth,
'Son',
Like mother of anyone,
Like this mother at the crossroads,
Which seemed so much my own!
Going pensively quiescent,
Dipped in a foggy muse,
Offered her some money-
Offering a handful for the while
To that mother's imagery,
A mother's embodiment
That uttered 'son'!
The car rolled away,
left the crossroads back,
Carried the connotation,
the blessed call of a mother,
Resonating many times:
'Son'!
'Son'!
'Son'!
Obsessed in mind,
Poignant with thoughts
Of that motherly woman
Who lipped 'son' while
gracefully looked with
Mother's eyes devine.
A hollow was sensed,
The heart felt knotted,
A vacuum engulfed mind,
A void came afresh-
That never ending longing
For my departed mother
Who Left behind
The cloak of her
Earthly life.
On a bright autumn day
As I passed by,
That crossroads again,
Searched with a curious eye
That graceful benefactress
Of that precious feeling:
calling me 'son'.
She was not there,
The wispy hopes belied,
It was a void again !
The bunyan tree,
Shed autumnal leaves
As it had witnessed
My tryst with a moment's mother.
Leaves, that paved the earth,
Were leaves of an obituary.
I heaved a sigh,
With heart a hermit of melancholy,
And thoughts downcast,
Rolled away my car
Leaving my mind there
At the crossroads.
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