A Sunday morning it was,
The world was busy rolling without a pause,
There sat in one corner of a small house,
A normal house-wife tired of doing the daily chores,
Nevertheless,content..
Her two successful sons, touched her feet being bent,
For her blessings lead them in the darkness they said,
She couldn’t be any prouder; the sons she fed,
Had taken her name to heights that soared,
Like a young and strong lion, they roared,
But, that day her heart paced,
Uneasy she felt, while to the temple she raced.
Suddenly, something made her cease,
For on the door was the police,
Her son had killed himself, they said,
And that, her son now was dead,
Tears rolled down her cheeks,
Her new-found world had been torn apart,
She felt weak,
A pillar of her foundation was now gone,
The world came to a sudden still,
As if karma was on the kill.
Gasping, Panting, Crying she cursed the one above,
For he took from her, the son she raised with all her love.
As her second son lit fire over his dead brother’s body,
His mother’s eyes went cloudy,
Lifeless,was what she felt,
With miseries, tough times had she dealt,
this just couldn’t take place,
For in the darkest of corners, she searched for solace.
An Irreparable loss it was,
She tried everywhere to look for the cause,
Its been three years now,
The loss surfaces somehow,
The world could be so ruthless,
She was clueless.