In Dedication to Pushpa…. my mother.
To the beauty
I just got to know.
As I look with eyes to find,
I see the beauty behind,
An old woman, on a crutch,
Her hair white with shades of grey,
She sits on a bench in the middle of a park,
Her eyes all moist, as she reminisced her spark,
Yes, the beauty of the moment was unbelievable,
As the tale she said was believable,
She was once a school girl, with a grit,
And there her eyes sparkled with glint,
As she went back to those days when she ran,
Among the little butterflies, in parks of the same kind,
She looked on to see old women on crutches,
Wondering how they got there,
For she was sure she was far from there,
She would never ever want to be in their shoes,
Even though it meant, doing all it does,
To remain where she was.
Well one night as she dreamt, of the wilderness of the jungle, with its dangerous beasts, staring at her, and in the face of the fear,
She saw herself, face them with a grit unknown, cause, suddenly fear stared at her with fear.
All it wanted to do was retreat,
Retreat into, it’s unreal world, never to show up to her, who lived in real.
Then one day years later, as she walked on, into the park, with crutches on,
Then she realised, she was one with that old woman on a crutch,
She looked around for traces of her, and when nowhere could she find her,
She knew she had taken indeed her place,
And slowly as she realised, the space,
Between them indeed encompassed,
Merging into a reunion of souls who differed to unite.
Underneath the various trees, they learnt to live and love,
For better or worse,
They knew for sure, they were at the edge,
And as they united into that light,
They knew they had won, the game of life.