Happy Birthday Maa

When I fall into
My mother’s arms
With sobs shadowing
The triviality of my
Pain, I smell an earthly
Scent of upbringing, a
Magnanimity that surrounds
Me even on days I know she is just
Hanging on by a thread.
When I look at her, she is
Not the roti she makes, or
The bread, or a crowd
Of pillars just lifting the
Weight. She is a monument,
Choosing not to decay,
Choosing to stand tall
And let the dust and
Old battle scars say,
The stories that have built
Her treasure. One of which
I am proud to be.


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