She came searching for life, upstairs;
holding a clutch of time, that
she herself was feeling disenchanted about it
ennui of the present
came plashing with higher tides
indifferent to who she was
Oblivious of stepping legs
she strayed from her present path
to her familiar past
Repeatedly she called out her mother
that her mother was alive; resting or sitting in her upper room
knowing least that her mother had died forty years earlier
She is eighty years old now, pressing her remaining years
with the bonding lost into the past, that
She and her Mother once drew milk out of it
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