It was my favorite field activity,

which I  tended   with all sincerity ,

i didn't want to miss my ailing mother,

but she blissfully gave a  sign go further;

it was a season of reaping and binding,

life's struggle all there overflowing,

her  mind full of love and affection best,

who cared and nurtured me, the youngest.

shocking and sudden the sad news,

she breathed last ,her soul's wish for us ,

the best and best  for all of us .

field and corn and plenty lie  null

before  a mother's sacrifice full.

it is not home when she is gone.

The fresh morning with crows cawing,

church bells ringing , choir and priests preaching,

school children in their attire best,

rush amidst traffic and rules bypassed.

green grass  in bunches sway ,

unawares the sickle soon would remove away,

kitchen and dishwasher in water's full flow

unchecked run and run with sound's row,

all in routine in and around ,

in introspection  ruminates my    mind ,

can all these substitute my beloved mom,

 memory green ever blesses us a boon.

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By Radhamani sarma