TO MY MOTHER’S FIRST WHITE HAIRS

What do I see?
A wisp? two?
Coils of white
It stands haughty and unyielding when I pulled at it,
My mouth hangs up
I was mesmerized
My mother is getting old
My mother is growing old
A smile pulled my mouth
That was left ajar by surprise, it is called tiny locks of blessing
I reflected,
I rolled the silky strand in my hand
While my mother, face not smiling
Punches the demon that adds figures
Face creased as she realized
The meagre fish feed won’t last the month
Mount everest of debts
Tuft of grass for budget,
Sighs of frustration
Then it hits me
The white hair
Spells my need to pull my sagging pants
Pants falling off, after pulling and tugging
At the “suwe” and catcher catcher game
Something clicked!
I am a kid no more
My tiny frame has a mammoth baggage of responsibilities
I am the messiah
My fragile shoulders
Is the Beacon of hope that is not ripe yet,
I stopped playing with her coils
My shoulders sagged as realization hit home
My baby brothers and sister, filed out of the shanty rack we call home,
Each looking at me
Eyes hungry
That kept saying
“our stomach, brain and body lies
With you”
My stomach is turning
My brain is mashed up
My body is weak
My mother’s white hair is not white!
It is Grey
And nay, she is not getting old,
Stress is getting the better out of her
It milks her youth out of her
Like a angry jilted milkmaid
Eager to get it all over with
To go back to mourning a lost love
It sucks life out of her
Like a woman ‘blessed’ with the dementors kiss
My mother’s grey hair
Reminds me, I am no longer a free kite
I am now Mother Hen.

:Abdulazeez Kaothar

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