Amma

Dedicated to Ed Sheeran Inside the glass the dry leaf was manifested, as a skeleton is prominent with all the inside structure and artistry. I went to the voting center. I had nothing , completely nothing in my mind. Beto O'Rourke, some democratic other names , but I was not daydreaming, I was not dreaming at all, in a grown up body, I learn so little, after putting so much efforts, I feel I am getting washed away, and nothing sits there, nothing gets deposited there, as silt, sedimentation of particles, nothing too much sensual either. It gets washed away, as the river flows, as a present body embedded in the nature, out in the flora and fauna. I had a ride. She is a beauty, with headscarf and white skin, she is a mirror of the past. flavor of cooked mosul of next door neighbor, where we had a big big masjid on the other side of the road, the name of the masjid was Minar Masjid. The minaret was truly beautiful, and the curvature , also. Older days, in Bangladesh. We reached the destination. She met a random person. I had so many complicated nuances in my introspection that I hardly talk about that. There is a narrow lane to be tagged as inferiority complex, and opening up about truer issues, where lights are making the pathway as our intentions are reflected on that.My mom was a old fashioned beauty, an old one, but vintage enough like the most delicate motif, as I touch the threads beyond time, without cherishing too much, without mourning too much for perishing either. She was never an outspoken person. My older sister had a maxi, a long gown, a greenish one. Amma mended the gown for me, a downsized one, and did embroidery on the chest with pink and green threads. Her knitting was with a style, a reserved one. Not every morn brings her back. Not these days. Not too often.