Mother

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  • Family

    Mother

    I looked at her,
    she frowned.
    "Son, four decades ago
    you made a choice.
    Your dad disagreed,
    but said that she was nice.
    We had misgivings but knew,
    we weren't walking in your shoes.
    We let it be.
    It was your choice. "
    I stared at her,
    she smiled.
    "A year later you called,
    'I've a daughter!'you yelled.
    We shared your happiness.
    Your dad shed tears of joy too.
    You chose well son.
    Now, let me rest."
    Gently, I wiped my tears
    from her ageing photograph.

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    Sasi’s Poems (6)

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    The Monsoon 0
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    Mother 0
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