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Meeting My Mother
A cacophony of thoughts swirls in my confused mind.
Yesterday was quiet and peaceful, everything moving
on well-oiled rails. Suddenly the train of memories
accelerated and now things will never be as before.
A letter came from a well-known TV presenter.
We found your mother, my friend, he said.
Ruminations of lilac and black oscillated tempestuously
Through the corridors of my marshy mind. What was I to do?
Did I want to meet my unknown mother or not?
I had never met her and to do so now seemed I was
crossing a turbulent river, eddying all around.
My mother had to give me up when I was just a baby.
I don’t blame her. There was a war and she could not
give me the care I needed. But she always regretted
her decision and wanted me back. She got her wish
three lonely decades after she lost sight of me.
A decision had to be made, shall I meet her or not?
I had never seen her face, nor her mien, nor heard her talk.
But blood is thick and deep in my heart I knew
I had to meet her. An appointment was made, and there was no
turning back. There she was and my heart leapt with joy.
It was not her looks or how she talked. It was just
the intuition. She was my mum and I hugged her and found
great appeasement, bliss, euphoria and above all peace.
Fiction, please.
Copyright ©
Victor Buhagiar
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