If God Sends My Maa For A While!

I shall lay my head on her knees Believing that God must have cured her arthritic joints in heaven, Then she will brush my hair with her fingers And I shall tell her all my soul suffered from; I shall complain of the bouquet of roses That pricked my hands despite the silk-ribbon And scotch-tape woven around it carefully; I shall tell her the tricks of the winds Blowing roughly on me leaving all others And of clouds that shower benign rain On all others leaving me, Though I stand under them with a bowl In my hands raised skywards Which stays dried up; I‘ll feel she smoothes my hair I am relieved, and her sweetness has removed The wrinkles of my crumpled soul successfully… I shall feel an urge to tell her That I miss the apple-jam she used to prepare for me In a sauce-pan, And that I have left eating the soaked and peeled off Almonds and raisins with a glass of milk; I shall clarify that I am telling her all Because I don’t tell Such things to anyone Not because they won’t listen to this But because I have lost my tantrums wild Somewhere in the fields of my childhood; I shall ask her Does she listen to my voice while I recite prayers On her grave? Does she see when my brother removes the frozen candle wax? And washes the tomb-stone? Or showering petals on her earthly-bed? Yes, I shall tell her That cooking shows are no more interesting now; That all the tragic tunes interpret my heart And all the sad songs sing of my soul; But, will it be wise to tell her all That might cause pain to her? I shall have no idea of her allowed duration with me So, I won’t tell her, or ask from her anything But this, that we all are settled in life, And that I am happy And then I shall smile as big as a smiley-sticker, ear to ear and I won’t let her know - - - that my pen bleeds still…