Sonal Singh On Sonal's Table
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Warming his hands by the pitiful flame he looked up and smiled.
“Maa, how did you know that I was cold?” he asked his mother.
“I’m your mother. I just know.” His mother smiled as she replied.
“I know when you need comfort, when you feel under the weather.”
He laughed then, a gay sound filled with the joy of childhood
It rang in the frigid air like a musical peal, deep and resonating.
He stoked the fire with a stick, added a few slender logs of wood
And soon the flames leapt up as if in a dance, as if celebrating.
The amber glow burned bright with the happiness they felt
The aroma of pine soon permeated the air where they both sat.
Gradually the fire subsided, its embers subdued to red welts
And in the mellow warmth they basked, swatting at the gnats.
They made quite the pair symbolizing the most real bond of all
That a mother’s instinct shall always be to protect, to nurture;
She will rise above the odds to shield her child against any call
She will stand and block, to the best of her ability and stature.
Image – Jacob Lagerstedt
