Listening to friends talking about their mothers;
One said – “She’s eighty, still hale and hearty,
Got to go home for dinner with her”.
Before he could continue, the other said,
“Mine is eighty too, she’s OK,
Though a bit slow in walking”.
Men of my age. Silent, I calculate -
If my mother were alive,
She’d be eighty three.
I wished she had married younger
And I were born first, so that
I could’ve spent, at the most
A bit more time with her.
Now that she’s gone
I wish she weren’t
Though there were times when alive
I had wished she weren't.
How foolish, how regrettably foolish
Not to love, not to be with
The ones who care for you most!
******** Balachandran V, Trivandrum, 12-01-2010