You're asleep so calmly Ma, and I sit by,
But inside of you, I know is a strife.
It's supper time almost, and I smell nostalgia,
Of all the food you've given me, all my life.
You gave me colostrum and it's antibodies,
Took utmost care to prepare even my cerelac.
For my birthdays, you baked those amazing cakes,
And those yummy cookies, every day for snack.
Come any festival, was always my favourite sweet,
Chicken soup it was, when I went down with viral.
All my exams, I survived with your midnight tea,
Dinner was a feast daily, with tangy mango pickle.
Making my career in Medicine was important,
And I need to focus, I always thought.
Hence the aid of stove, spoon and spices,
Not even for one day,I sought.
Late now though, I realise it today,
For you, I should've sometime cooked.
Even though just a meal or two,
Happy then, you would've felt and looked.
Now please open your eyes Ma,
Respond to the Drugs acting on you.
Help me cook a Gourmet for you Ma,
Just bid your Ryle's Tube adieu.
A Poem by Chandana who blogs at The World Around Me