Mother

Mother,

When I sit to write,

I’ve words that assemble gently ,

at times with an unknown assertion.

Each one a sentence,

Pages to many short stories.

Selfless and unconditional

Words of love and care,

Spiritual and emotional milieu;

Oscillating between a situational teacher ,

Otherwise a friend;

Lessons unplanned yet taught,

Each one a description.

From your scribbled recipes

And shared values of tradition,

There’s never a day without references;

I seem not to have grown any bigger.

But, I like it when said,

I look like you.

Copyright © 2017, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar

Mom’s My World

To My Mother

(Published in Me, My Friend, 2009, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar)

 MOTHER

How I wish I could speak to you mom

It is a phone call from you that has now become a desire

No words to say, no words to convey

My love for you mom.

Life in hostel with friends around

Keeps me going

But the beautiful time we shared together

Discussing sweet nothings

I miss the most

And even more I miss you mom.

The Sundays when the phone rings

I run to the reception desperately hoping it is you

My heart leaps out to say all those small things

That then seem very important

But when I hold the receiver I forget everything mom.

A word with you is now like a dream come true

How to tell you it is your word that makes my week

And then I start asking

Why did I have to grow up to be your big girl mom?

Hmm, all said and done

Nothing will change right now

But how I wish I could speak to you mom

For I am still your little girl at heart when it comes to you

And I just want to say I love you, mom.

To Mothers

birdies

 

What does little birdie say

In her nest at peep of day?

Let me fly, says little birdie,

Mother, let me fly away.

Birdie, rest a little longer,

Till the little wings are stronger,

So she rests a little longer,

Then she flies away.

 

The famous lines from Alfred Lord Tennyson, written ages ago, taught  and is still being taught, have remained ingrained in my mind.

My school long forgotten, and we classmates awaiting our little birdies’ flights, still enjoy reciting this poem.

As I clicked the picture of a nest with little birdies in my garden, I look at the mother bird struggling to keep her calm.

The hummingbird that appears ageless, in her tiny body, blue sheen, and beak sharpened to perfection, fluttering, I wonder how much we struggle to look young. At the same time, life has been a sweet struggle when we take the role of providers to our children. Probably, all in the hope of living up to their expectations!

And then comes the day, when they find their way into the bigger world of dreams and aspirations. The excitement to take on an independent life makes them camouflage their love, and it transpires into achieving a living.

Apparently, most mothers, in spite of their busy schedules and work, find it hard to deal with this parting. Gradually, their love transcribe to loving selflessly. And then they learn to live with the day.