Mother

A Poem by Bharti Bansal

I see my mother's calloused hands
Which carry my entire childhood in them
Now lie wrinkled and tired
Her eyes which once shone with diamonds
Now lie bare and coal like
Burning her insides
Where she sits at the inglenooks
And warms herself off the cold season i have created
She is the entire village
Carried in the wounds of her feet
And cracked ankles
But when she smiles
I see her squinting her eyes
To give me the false impression of laughter
And I like a good audience,
Believe her
Tell her how I love her
As I question myself
If it is my fault
That her eyes have become mouth for the war cries
Her lips have been sealed with the stiches of love for me
As she drinks her own muffled sighs
My Maa never likes what I write
But still reads it, as a reader
Who stops her heart from beating
And reads my poetry in a breath
She says pain is burried like gold in mines
It takes a heart to extract it
My mother is an embodiment of life
Who lives through my lungs
As I take my breaths every single day
Her skin droops with sadness
Which sometimes flows from her eyes
Until she drinks her tears
And shows her parched cheeks to pretend.
My maa is a flower growing on cactus
Who feels the sting of my thorns every single day
But never complains.
Occasionally she loves music too
On such days she increases the volume of television too much
And cries to hide her sound of sorrows in the noise
But she doesn't know
That I eavesdrop on her tears
Which scream above the audible range
So much so that I just feel a pang in my heart and know
My mother is a cement house
With bricks made of her resilience
But on some days
She becomes a kid
I , her mother
And cradle her to sleep
Until next morning
She gets up with the same smile
And kisses me a new beginning
She is sacrifice wrapped in skin
Which now peels off as hurt
But I make paper out of it
And write her another poetry
And hope she never knows
That I know it all.