Angai Geete

Drifting memories
I have often smiled
When I have wanted to weep
Turned away at times
Sometimes in view
It was her voice or the songs
Like a sonnet, but abrupt, abstract
That she could instantly construct
Back then the limits were 10
The Sheep were 10, or maybe 20
In such energy then, the ceiling was fun
Forced stares, wanting to hear
Her words would gently sway
My heart, or soul, both I guess
I was to be chasing the woolly quad
Not me, I wanted to hear her more
Who knows why ‘Chafa bole na’
Or why was the peacock in ‘Ambyacha Vanaat’
Yet she drew them in words
In her gentle cuddle, Her cotton saree
So soft, fragrant with detergent
Washed over 400 times, no replacements
My new shirt over her needs
I was king, even if of an almost penniless empire
I know now, what that means
I know what wishing a ‘Chocolatecha Bangla’ entails
Diabetes, and sugar rush, first money
Lots 
But no soft sarees for her, they are not soft now
The king won’t let them go soft anymore
And
Maybe 1329 Kilometre is too far for her voice to reach
If I run to her, she will cook for me
She will sing, but I miss the old sarees of hers
Her Pallus were my covers
It explains, a lot
Maybe that is why I cannot sleep
Yes, I miss Maa.