MY MOTHER

Life do at times fall apart,

as destiny plays its part.
In Roman clocks as sand drips,
a loose foothold, away it slips.

Tight however you may press,
away it goes without a trace.
Goes away, falls in a heap,
away from us, from our keep.

What if we could gather,
the dusts of joy, for us rather?
Life goes away - it pains,
as tears trickle, sorrow rains.

A strange numbness grips us,
a silent growing pain rips us.
Its hard - that 'glimpse of destiny',
makes us weaker - makes so any.

Yet we linger, till that day,
when the last speck slips away.
Mingles to dust warmth and peace,
the life, the love and mother's kiss.


Prasenjit©1997-2012