Ma,
Ma…how long should I have to wait to meet you?
How long would this journey be?
Every little corner and every little bend,
Tells me… you are no more there to hold,
When the world around grows unseemly cold! For every little black cloud looming over me, you swooned in like a mother falcon, You kept me under your strong wings, Told me stories of how indifferent the weather with time can change and be.
Ma, I was too playful and talkative then, listened to you less, had my stories to tell. You will not be surprised when I meet you again, I am still the same, live my life with no bargain.
Only when I am at a loss… I wait to see you. There is no ‘Ma’ in the garden.
I penned this for you.
The irony and the paradox are just deafening!
The lull and the lullaby.
The hold and the drop,
The kisses and the misses,
The living and the dead.
Always with me,
Nothing to ask.
Tomar Pompa