A talk all through the evening
a conversation over the phone
I wait for the phone to ring
expect the most familiar tone
the weekends usually is fun
not like the weekdays
when I have to work in tons
tired and exasperated always
I relax on Saturdays
answering the successive phone calls
the one after another in a way
they be in the order never false
the first from my first born at the onset
enquires my welfare in words of choice
the next one from my second at the behest
in his inimitable way introspects on my poise
the final call from my little one when at rest
who interrogates my health status
all the three come up in different turns
the subject being I at all runs
it is the mother, the mother all the more
they could not think of anything more.
Meenas Poems 