Mother Poem by shivansh soni

while sun is bright
i used to sit
outside the kitchen
and write
'A'...for amma
in the cloud of smoke
mother used to singing
and making 'chapaties'
and simultaneously
making small balls of flour.
And after that
she was spreading them
in the barandaha
So many birds
used to come
and choosing
the small flours ball

Belan, Kalcchi, Chimta
and fire
becoming active
and used to dance
near the mouth of the oven
in the kitchen.
now neither mother is at home
nor birds
are there in the city
only small ball of flour are left
when ever im alone
n

i remember the old days
i spread there
small balls of flour
and i think my mother
in form of birds
come down at the
Barandaha of the house