By Anuradha Gupta
Last night I opened the closet,
To clear the clutter,
And found a gem in return;
It was a pale, wilted paper.
"All ok here, you take good care there;
You are our life, heart and soul."
The words in blue, had aged and looked little faint,
But the blue bore words, so tender, so quaint.
The warmth of her embrace,
A whisper from the past,
So soft, it felt so near,
But alas what is dear,
Is far from here.
In the quiet of night,
I traced time's path,
Drifted away by,
mother's love.
With each crease I unfolded,
in the pale, wilted paper,
I could feel a love
Untouched by time and years.
The scent of nostalgia filled the air,
As I read those lines with rheumy eyes.
Her love unfurled in every stroke of blue,
The pale, wilted paper was a treasure chest of wisdom.
On weary nights and troubled days, I turned to its embrace.
A pillow for my tears,
a lantern through the haze,
My pale, wilted paper
Smells like home, my precious space.
A beacon of warmth through life's trials,
Dignity, diligence, triumph and smiles,
Standing tall even in the darkest night.
With trembling hands, I held it tight,
A silent promise woven all in blue.
Through every storm, through joy and pain,
Her voice in those lines still calls me by fond names.
Each word she wrote, a whisper so sweet,
Each fond name a hug, a bond, a trust.
The decades may have faded the letter into a pale wilted paper,
Faded though the paper, no love feels greater!