Bidayii

A scrunched up hairband, and a broken clip,
empty hangers askew in the wardrobe,
somewhat mussed bed but smooth the pillowslip,
a shaggy, lipstick-smeared cotton swab;


red, gold, maroon, green and yellow ribbons -
they float around like streamers in the room;
somewhere in the heart too they're coming undone.
Stale flowers piled with sandalwood perfume.


The neighbours ask after you and we chat -
oh, my daughter's gone to her brand new home
and blessed is the mother who can say that,
happy the days though in monsoon monochrome.


Blanked window eyes snap shut, trees drizzle leaves -
she'll always be ours wherever she lives.








For all mothers who say goodbye to their children and wear happy smiles and heavy hearts.