Yesterday I turned sixty-one
And someone long forgotten
Sent me a mail wishing hundred and one,
An expression of habitual sentiment.
He knew I loved our Mother*,
For he cared to attach Her snap.
Her lips were a bewitching smile,
Folded hands were soulful prayer
For us all who have no time for Her.
Viewed the picture, a glance sufficed,
Oh, my disk has no more space.
The mail found its way to trash,
Who has time for wishing farce?
Another day of dreary chores,
Frenzied phone calls, business talks,
Ceaseless standing on the toes,
Back to PC at the close.
The old always guides,
I look for a document saved
For help in having a new one made,
Don’t we always retrieve the buried!?
Lo! What could be this, a new file
In ‘My Documents’ saved
Without my knowledge?
Finger curiously clicks.
The smile brightens the screen
Like the dawn of spring-time sheen,
Hands fold again to greet
A careless son so indiscrete.
For all I know I had pressed “Delete”,
Nevertheless She refused to retreat.
At the bottom of our being, isn’t it,
“My Documents” - Her sacred retreat?
A tear-drop tiny grows and wells
In my erstwhile blinded eyes
To spark an insight so very bright
“A Mother never ever leaves Her kids”.
* A saintly lady of Kerala - Mata Amritanandamayi Devi