A Sketch

​I sketched my mother a little while ago.

On a sheet pure like her soul.

Waves of charcoal lined up in grace 

To form her angelic face.

Her sparkling eyes that used to cherish everything,

Were today stuck at one place.

I, being a little selfish,

Drew them like they are watching my face.

While shading her cheeks I remembered,

How beautiful she used to look.

Never did I see them dull,

Never did I see them crook.

Her lips that sang to me once

were suddenly shut today. 

I shaded it darker and darker.

Longing and craving for it to say. Anything that I will keep alive always and in every way.

Her voice is in my head that didn’t die.

She had short hairs that would always fly across my cheeks and across my eyes.

But today they were not undone.

Instead, tied in a bun.

When I shaded her hand I recollected the memory of my hand in hers. 

How mystically just being in them my wounds would start to cure.

I still feel her hands that dried.

My happy tears and sad cries.

I shaded my mother a little while ago.

And now, a little more about her I know.