To a friend in his 50s on the passing of his mother:

Many, many, many
Summers and moons.
She tended you from
Seed to sapling to tree.
Then you tended her,
And now she is free.

Life doesn't promise
Eternal domesticity.
The great cosmic game
Is played, masked in
Leela, but Love wins
Over all else, Love is.

Take heart from dear Love,
Past, today and future.
Love is the tears, Love
Wipes the tears, Love
Wins over fears, Love's
The heart of all the years.

Write 'Love' for our names,
For our times, for our fames,
For feathers and couldn't-dos,
Dreams, shouldn't-dos, blames.
In the end, and so it is always,
It's dear Love that reclaims.


© Sanjib Basu