Growing up

I realize I am growing old

with my mother’s home prepared coconut oil,

pressed flowers on the sheets.

I sleep next to her

almost like a ritual now,

I realize

when she mumbles softly in her sleeps

the childhood was different-

It was full of prayers, folk songs, odes, laments.

I see her sleep walking now-

abruptly between the noises in her head

amidst the empty pale rooms,

Circling

Walking

Sitting

I see her sleeping with deep breaths,

a hard name to remember-

I realize, I am growing too old now

to witness the melancholy,

to paint my fingers in the sea of dementia.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Thinking of a Christmas gift? My poetry collection is receiving all the love for which I am truly thankful to each one who supported it. I produced my book out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here-

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