My mother knows almost everyone.
She knows the neighbors who had left for London.
When she was still a careless and rambunctious child,
She remembered every street dog,
even the ones who have died.
My mother remembers names of people,
So old, you’d wonder if she herself is as old as the Sistine Chapel.
Bosh! Such exaggeration! My mother is veritably human,
And perhaps that’s why she remembers the trees, the bazaar and the shawled men.
She presents news and facts, unknown to all else,
Like a party trick—one that always amazes new guests.
My mother held on to the memories of everyone,
As if she was scared to board the final train.
To, the light at the end of the tunnel,
We advance to the void, to the value of null.
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Hi! I’m Kaushiki Chowdhury. I’m a prospective undergraduate and I intend to pursue english with an elective of film studies. I enjoy reading books and my current read is “A Little Life”
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