PARTHA SARATHI PAUL
My grand lady...
My granny is super oldie.
She stays in her bed all day;
her walker stares a little away.
She`s in the seventh stage for years
almost like a child as Shakespeare said.
When her shaky hands lay on this man
the same love of the grand lady feels this grand son.
It seems just yesterday though many years back
this junior as a toddler followed her steps
in the rooms and yards of the old home.
I as a baby lay in her arms when she visited her friendly neighbors;
I as a baby from her arms looked around the outside world.
All my cries came to an end when she took in her flabby arms;
now no more cries on her lap in such a cozy and magic touch!
She was a castle around me against any shouts and snarls;
none could hit me; not even frowns or brow- beating could come.
She was a strong safeguard when I was a boy.
Even my father couldn`t break through her put- up cordon!
She told me the tales of my long dead, patriot grandpa.
She feels her old man in me and loves me that much.
Only this morning she had a sudden fall;
she was crying bitterly, worse than a child.
I rushed in and lifted her on to her bed;
now just a bundle of fragile bones and cotton muscles.
My vision blurred in a moment and memory flashed old album.
These words are just some fragments of many pictures.
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