The Box

By Shweta Prasad

The clock hung,

low on the wall.

As the pendulum swayed with a tick,

that stole my time,

incurable with any thyme.

Only if I had time-

time to which I lost her!

Her fingers weaved plaits,

as they ran over my hair.

From lullabies to bedtime stories,

a voice as sweet as hers,

invited angels of the empyrean!

Only if I had time-

time to hang on her voice,

a little more!

The rustling maple leaves,

spellbound me to saudade!

She held my hand,

through falls that flipped by.

Till, time parted us.

Only if I had time-

time to walk with her,

Amid the maple leaves,

that bid adieu.

Her presence was vivid,

with her scent-

that loitered in her room.

I crawled up,

to her side of the bed.

Snuggling next to a void,

As I wept,

clutching her lavender pink sweater!

Only if I had time-

time to curl up next to her,

a little more!

Orphaned bifocals,

sat still atop her favourite novel.

A bookmarked line,

familiar solely to her.

Bounded by crystalline,

framed our happy faces,

with smiles that outshone-

her bedside lamp!

She left her beaded rosary in silence,

with no prayer to preach!

The black knob,

As black as the mourning weed,

caught my eye.

The cupboard creaked open.

A box nestled,

under the warmth of her clothes-

a visitor I knew nothing about!

Curiosity raced my heartbeat,

As I opened the box.

A cursive so familiar,

inked the letter.

Like a rhyme,

her words echoed me:

"Dear Annie,

A daughter like you deserve kisses,

miss me not, when I'm no more with you.

Leaving you with this box,

filled with my infinite kisses for you,

I'll be there with You, always.

With love & kisses,

- Mum."

The box of kisses.

By Shweta Prasad