Sunday, September 1, 2013

To a true lady, My Archchi (Grandma)

The last of a monarch
You proudly lay
Withered leaves of a trunk 
That weathered many a rain
And yet with each spring 
Grew white flowers 
The color of your soul
That bloomed with each smile
That same color, white
Your blessings took
As it flowed from your withered hand 
To my bowed head 
Through that gentle touch
Your love I felt
I will never forget
And as I watch 
Tears drop unheeded
As petals to the ground 
You, the last of the elders
Of an era long gone
You lay, eyes closed
Draped in traditional sari
White flowers printed on white
You lay in your final sleep
As I kneel before you
My final salute 
Final gesture of worship
Forehead to floor
I lose a part of my soul
My Archchi, go in peace
As you enter
Through heaven’s door

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