MY MOTHER

 

MY MOTHER 

In the frame, a face so young, so bright,

A mother's smile, a guiding light.
But as time flows, the years pass by,
And yet, in memory, she does not age or die.

I search for traces, echoes of her,

In the mirror's gaze, in whispers of the past's murmur.
Grey hairs crown my head, lines etched on my face,
Yet her image remains frozen in time's embrace.

How do I reconcile this youthful grace,

With the reality of time's relentless pace?
For a mother should age alongside her child,
Yet in my mind, she remains forever mild.

On this Mother's Day, I ponder and reflect,

On the bond we share, despite time's unchecked.
Though memories may fade, and years may fly,
A mother's love transcends, reaching to the sky.

By Geeta Bhanwala