Tears in Chapatti

Come back home, Oh Darling!
Come back home...

It is the timewhen translucent dropsplays on the petals,
filling our garden,with fragrance of
rain sodden sand.

The wet dusks are the
reminder;return home...

Often your mother,
fills her chapatti
with her tears;
waiting for you to
join her for dinner.

Her eyes stuck on the darkness,
outside the door;
falling hail sometimes
creates a shadow.
Her misty eyes,
sees your reflection
in every tall silhouette,
crossing the road.
She raises her head to
catch your glimpse
but in vain.

Her chapatti by then
turns wet and cold.
She leaves the table
each night,
muttering to herself
"I have no appetite."

By then, the moon shows up
in our bedroom window,
some times bright, sometimes cloudy,
like your remembrance in our hearts.
The crickets begin nightly chirping,
their calling songs
Come back home darling...

Each night
your mother sees the same dream;
a reverie of welcome,
with melodies of rejoining.
You are standing at the doorstep,
ringing the bell repeatedly;
she wakes up each morning,
rushing to answer the bell,
muttering to herself,
"Oh, how could I not hear the bells?"

She opens the door,
her eyes twinkling brightly
to embrace you
but alas…

It's raining again,
the downpour washes the wishes,
your mother turns back,
leaving the door open.
Come back home
Oh darling…

by Nandini
Thanks for image taken from bp0.blogger.com

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