Come the weekends
I sit tied to my phone
there could be no end
the rings come nonstop in tone
the calls would be in order
the first from my first son
who lives in the northern border
the next from my second son
who lives in the southern hemisphere
finally from my youngest one
who lives in the same sphere
all call me in the same tone
and utter the very word “atha”
( the Tamil equivalent of mother)
the eldest one talks in a mild voice
the same way he used to call me as a kid
the second one bursts out with emotion across
as he used to hug me when he was a kid
the third comes in an authoritative tone
the very way he used to beat me around as a kid
they have changed and fathered children
their voices till remains the same to me
and it is that call that brings me out of the den
My sons, I love you all the more and most.
Long Live all of you!—-“Atha”.
Tag: sons
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A Motherly Look Out.
With my sons living far away
with the timings in a stray
one might be getting up with the morn
the other would be retiring in a worn
whilst the third be involved in work all through
as a mother I make no calls in true
fearing I would distract them
and really disturb them
but wait in anxiety to hear their voice
a day without talking leaves me with no choice
as there surrounds a gloom and a worry
while my heart pounds with a query
as how they are getting on in distant lands
hoping they are well without any difficult stands
so the day passes on the whole
dull and dim, moving without a goal
Well, that has become my routine nowadays
eagerly looking out for their return in a gaze.
Meenas Poems 