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  • Writer's pictureSonal


Sunsets are my favorite thing, So I go to the park Behind my apartment, Where I see the bleeding sun Gradually disappear, while its reflection Lingers for a while in the pond. The park has a banyan tree, Sitting beneath which is a frail old lady, Feeding the squirrels, laughing with the kids, Her smile could brighten up your day, But her eyes show longing. So I walk up to her each day that I am there, And strike a conversation, Just random stuff, nothing deep. She lives right there, under the tree, Nothing bothers her, Not the sun, not the rain, not winter's icy fangs. She wears the same tattered saree everyday, So I bought her some more, She's happy indeed. She tells me how She escaped from the asylum, But I can never figure out Why she was put there in the first place. She loves gajras, So I get her some fresh pieces Whenever I would go to the park. I have started calling her Amma, She tells me how much she misses me On days when I don't visit the park. Today when I went to the park, With a packet full of gajras for Amma, I could see a man sitting next to her, Taking a picture with her. So I stayed back And waited on a bench. The man finally got up and walked away, And I walked towards Amma, I could see her happier than ever, She hugged me tighter than a python, I asked her what the matter was. She couldn't contain her glee, "My son came to visit me today, He sat with me for 20 minutes, He's a busy man, you know? He even took a picture with me! I hope the Almighty keeps him happy." I looked at my phone, It was Mother's Day. The packet of gajras lay on the floor.

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