A gift, I received from my mother.
For me, it’s just a cotton table cover;
Worn out, faded, quite threadbare.
For her, a glorious piece of treasure.
A gift, she had received from her mother.
Overwhelmed, while handing it over,
She caressed it with a slight tremor.
Torn at edges, patches of varied colour.
What’s its use? I looked at it and at her.
It would lie in some obscure corner.
“An heirloom, I am willing to share,”
My mother spoke in a gentle quiver.
“Stitch the torn parts here and there.
See, the threads still retain the lustre.
The sequins mother loved to embroider.”
“Is it a thing to worry about or bother?”
With a nonchalant irk, I asked her.
“Our living room would reflect glamour,
When it was spread on the wooden altar.”
Her shining visage melted my vain air.
Did her eyes moisten with drops of tear?
Did my mirthful mother turn sombre?
The tapestry of her life, a part of her!
With trust, she parted with it forever.
I brought it home – a part of my mother.
To infuse in it life, some paint I smear.
A lining at the back to make it firmer.
Edges I stitch, with laces that glimmer.
Few dangling strings, and a velvet star,
Give the aged cloth a glossy makeover.
It portrays lives of grandma, her daughter.
Veiled emotions in a seeming candour.
Some pain I took to give her some pleasure.
Wholesome is life in my mother’s laughter.
In that raiment, a blessed legacy I nurture.
This piece of cloth binds past with future.
With her blessings, will my fortune prosper .
For others, it’s still an over worn cover,
For me – a rich inheritance, a reminder,
Upkeep the ties of loved ones together.