Somebody's Mother

So serene she sits
Her face wrinkled,
Her shoulders stooping down
With the burden of age.
She might be sixty
Or she might be ninety.
The world least cares, and so does she.

So serene she sits,
Her face on the rims of the broken window
A pair of glasses on her nose
Tied to her ears with a worn out string.
Her vision, blurred with senility
Mistakes my mother to be me.

So serene she sits,
Giving not a damn to the world around
Patiently waiting for someone, none know who!
Not a single teeth remain in her gums
But she greets each one of the passers- by
With a voice too inaudible
And actions quite feeble.

So serene she sits,
With never an expression of gloom
People say, her son abandoned her
Of which she has no memories.
Thus she never cries, never blames
But keeps laughing with her toothless face
At every other thing she encounters.

So serene she sits
Underneath the tree shadowing her tattered hut,
At times strolling in the unkempt lawn,
Bending her aged stature
On the stick that is twice aged.
It doesn't betray her
As does the world
...The world that forgets
That she had been a mother...
Somebody's mother.