Wrinkled Arms upon a Broken Heart
Those olden golden days,
reminded me of their coarse,
wrinkled arms,
that once caressed my hair, my cheeks, and my broken heart,
stained with the dried tears of endless pain.
It was their same wrinkled arms that
bestowed me with their gracious,
and unfailing love, in their finest greys.
“I whispered, ‘Grandma!'”
My sweet old gentle lady,
in her eighties,
sitting on her brown chair,
besides her blue walking stick,
and with her wiggling eyebrows,
droopy eyelids with her spectacles on,
and with the ever-charming smile,
on her blissful face.
She was all draped in
a red-dotted sari,
florals on her ears,
And with her bracelets of gold
adding an ageless beauty to
her wrinkled arms,
the same arms that embraced me.
It reminds me of her,
the greatest cook of all time,
adding a tablespoon of love,
a pinch of pride,
and some powdered ecstasy to every meal,
and the savoury smell of
sliced, sautéed potatoes,
the rich handmade mango pickle,
that still rumbles on my burnt tongue.
It was with her gracious arms,
She would drench my tousled hair,
with the finest oil,
subtle massage,
and of perfectly plated hair
with her favourite red-red rose,
upon my greasy hair.
It still reminds me of,
our conversation on the portico,
the chortling laughter with her,
over a rat’s burrowing.
Days passed,
My lady, remained in her same
brown chair,
with the same red-dotted saree
counting her bygone days,
with the same old spectacles.
and with her walking stick besides.
Sometimes with tears,
Sometimes with laughter.
She leant a little more,
onto her chair,
looking at someone,
with a melancholic smile.
Having the graceful grey hair on his head,
voluminous and soft,
youthful and handsome,
with his grey eyebrows,
and with his large, wrinkled nose,
and with his chortling laughter.
“I whispered, ‘Grandpa!'”
My sweet old gentleman,
in his nineties,
leaning towards
his chair,
And holding his cup of,
evening tea,
in his right wrinkled arm,
the same precious arm,
that ferried our lunch bags,
shoes perfectly polished in their elegance,
and those ironed clothes
like those of a pure gentleman’s.
It reminds me of him.
coins of five, notes of hundreds,
his homemade savoury puffed rice,
and his endless times,
of frying papads,
for every meal and more.
“I whispered, ‘Grandma!’ and ‘Grandpa!'”
For their presence added,
more grace to our days,
in countless numbers and numbers,
throughout the years and more,
and with their heavenly smile,
of tender happiness,
in every pain and laughter.
At last,
It reminded me of their
last and lost moments,
turning towards me,
with a mournful smile,
waving their last goodbye,
and slowly ascending into
God’s heavenly garden.
By: Candice Gerline.N
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