I try to delve
into a few spaces
of her life;
one that she has
carefully built –
bit by bit,
day by day,
person by person,
work by work,
house by house,
laughter line by laughter line,
grey strand by grey strand
of her gorgeous tresses.

She misses her Mother the most.

Over the years,
she let go
of unncessary baggage
and welcomed change
with grace.

She misses her Mother the most.

I delve
into a few spaces
of her house –
one that she has
lovingly made home,
over time,
furniture by furniture,
corner by corner,
photoframe by photoframe,
memory by memory.

She misses her Mother the most.

I delve
into her motherhood.
Her little boy
is little no more
(a year shy of his teens).
She has been a wonderful mother
and father to him;
she is his world
and he is hers.

I delve
into her room.
I watch as sunlight falls
on her long hair,
as she neatly puts away
gift-wrapping paper
from the presents for her son.
He just turned twelve
and his mother has too.

She misses her mother the most.

I delve
into her friendships.
She chooses wisely,
loves hopelessly,
and protects fiercely.
I am glad
to belong to her
carefully guarded
little world,
of the people
she loves.

She misses her mother the most.

She is beautiful
but has to be reminded
every now and then.
She thinks she is “fat”
(far from it)
and denies envious compliments
as she blushes red.

I delve
into her kitchen.
She makes tea
with ginger and mint
and caters to my demands
for endless cups of chai,
over endless conversations,
old favoruite melodies in the background.
She frowns
as i forget to place
a pretty coaster
beneath the cup.
She laughs
at my silly jokes.
Her eyes well up
when she thinks
of the woman
she misses the most.


I photograph her
as she tries to cover her face
with her palm.
And then giggles.

I’m happy
for the memory.

She is wistful
in the memory
of her Mother.

If only she would know
how proud her Mother is
as she watches her from above.

She resides in her heart
and shines in her glow
as the sunshine caresses
her radiant face.

I cannot delve
into her soul.

Her Mother
is already there,
smiling kindly,
just like in the photograph
on her daughter’s nightstand.




6 thoughts on “Spaces

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