I didn’t know why on us the sky suddenly fell,
but in the deracinating storm
we got uprooted from the native soil,
and wandered hapless anchorless,
like the floating driftwood,
until she found a distant alien land for us
to live and thrive again.
Times were real hard,
under the scorching sun of suffering,
and swept by the spewing squall of uncertainty,
she used her weary hands to construct my life,
toiled for years and built for me a nest,
from where I soared in my sky,
flew to the horizon where I am today.
A time came when my job took me to another city,
and had to leave her all alone in the old house,
she won’t desert the home she toiled to make,
but promised me in a letter, the only one I got,
conveying her heart, she would come one day,
and live with me.
That day never came,
she left her old home,
went to her new abode,
to live with the angels.
The love of my mother inscribed in her letter
is a precious memorabilia treasure, I’ve lost.
If I get the box containing my missing things,
the first thing I would look for
would be the letter of my mother,
the only one.
A thousand whispers echo,
at the end of the unending abyss.
Million are the doubts along,
numerous are perceptive degrees.
Sinking in the gyrating seduction,
deracinating subconsciously indeed.
wandering amidst the chaotic sea,
Ignorance seems like a bliss.
Darkness whispers when life surrenders,
And the world has to decry.
Engulfed in the symphonic doom,
The Black Rose emerges free.