• her_biro 36w


    The clinking of those shaped metals
    Perfectly round
    With patterns so intricate
    Touched each other
    Resonated and chimed,

    The alloyed smell of
    Potato stuffed roti
    (Which also perfectly hid
    the finely chopped green vegetables)
    And the smoke from incense stick
    Still lingered around her fingers,

    With them she held
    The wooden comb,
    Artistically making the two braids
    Always so identical
    Beautifying with the red ribbons
    Overlooking her messed up bun,

    She finally said,
    "Keep the bottle in your bag,
    And finish your tiffin!"
    I nodded and ran toward the bus
    She waved,
    But I didn't kiss her cheeks
    Like they show in the tv,
    Though I expressed it
    By finishing the tiffin
    And not leaving even a bit.

    May be I never said
    But the chopped chilli pieces
    That I engulfed
    Every noon
    To make sure
    My mother's sweat never goes in vain
    Screamed my love for her
    Much more than those kisses.