Thoughts On Mother's Day Poem by Bishnupada Sethi

In a late afternoon time
We had huddled around
A dhoti clad bespectacled goldsmith,
Seated in an open area
Of our village market.

While our faces looked sullen
My mother was beaming
With certain pride
And great happiness.

She had taken there
Her last piece of jewellery-
A few plated beads of gold
In the shape of ivy gourds.
Pieced together on a black thread.
She would wear it
Considering its sacredness
On account of her marriage.

There was no option-
She wanted it to be sold
To arrange some money
For my studies.

I saw the smith cut open mercilessly
All the beads one by one
After removing the thread.
Upon cleaning the gold plates
He put those on a weighing balance
And made payment in exchange.

It was a lot of money
More than what I needed
For about a year
That made my mother jubilant.

The scene of that day
Etched in my memory-
Kept me sad
For several years.

Years later I earned enough-
But never sufficient
To buy the ornament
She sold away that day.