My Mother's Swing

 In the yard back of my house is a tree with a swing; my father always told me it was my mother's wings,

She would ride it not in spring but every autumn; her thoughts were something an ordinary guy could not fathom,

She would bring the leaf less tree the life it lost; Releasing it from the pain of the leaves which turned into ghost.

He told me about her laughter and how unique it was; and how hearing it for the last time he was aghast,

Claiming he could recognise it from miles away; and her eyes, her eyes had the power to sway,

Sway every person and every talk in her favour;

And her voice, so sweet and pure, creating desire to listen more no matter how much you savour.

I don't remember you but I still try; I try to imagine how you looked, how you laughed and cry,

I try to remember you swinging in the night; the glow on your face under the autumn twilight.

And then I cry some more,

Cursing myself for forgetting the mother who lost her life to cancer; the sway of your body good enough to bring shame to dancer,

The gentle touch of your or the taste of your food; your praise when I did something good or your scoldings when I was rude.

All I remember is the trembling hand and the squeaky voice; which I heard loud and clear enough even in all that noise,

Your hand on my cheek and your shaking eyes and you started to speak,

" Remember I will always be with you,

in the cold wind and the morning dew;

in the starless night and the sweet rain;

in the summer's sweat and the winter's chills;

in the spring's scent and the autumn's warmth;

in every down and every up, every time you are happy or when life gives you a kick;

'Cause Mommy will always love you in health and when sick"............