Oh, it has been the hardest thing I ever wrote
Words fail to comprehend, what my heart emotes.
What words to say my love for a mom who didn’t beget me?
What words to say my affection for a mom who didn’t wean me?
One who never took me to school nor chastised me
But one who loved me just as much as the one who bore me.
How does one call his sister’s mother? English’s want?
By virtue of norm I called you what one calls a mother’s sister: Aunt
My first thangachi Prati, through this mother God‘s plan to grant
I just can’t express how much you were a mother to me, so sacrosanct.
In eighth grade I did have a teacher of botany
A mom I called an aunt, now Madam! A mental mutiny
My written scribbles and drawn squiggles, her scrutiny
Comparison to Prati made void all hopes of change, if any.
Praise and prayer are in my name, I know not though how lame
Cause every time I see the devotion in yours it puts me to shame.
In my years of distress and anxiety, whence flickered my flame
Your prayers lifted me up and reminded me He is forever the same.
How joyous is the thought of those homecoming times
Your words of welcome sweet as the church bell chimes
Chats of modern crimes and childhood rhymes
But most of all, the family prayers are the ones in my memory prime.
To the world, a light you shone all through your life
Shining bright even when there was an overhanging knife
A salt of essence into the stirring pot of other’s life
You gave taste untold of divine calm amidst their strife.
In a world filled with blasphemous snobs
Grumbling about the Master’s jobs
You bore the yoke all smiles, no sobs
My eyes have seen what didst old Job.
Songs of praise and thanks gushed from your lips
Even whilst plain water you couldn’t sip
The joy of the Lord, your strength, your grip
Your Faith in Him, held mine from going flip.
A life of million testimonies to thank Him daily
Even to death you committed to Him wholly
Though in deep anguish of missing you sorely
I did my best to fulfil my mom’s last wish to wail not and Hope in Him only.
While I still sojourn in this world you are in your Master’s bosom singing merrily
As sweet Jesus wraps you in His arms tenderly calling “My dear child Lily”
I write this with the hope that in heaven our eternal home to meet again duly
I will live this for Him as you always did. With love, your son, yours truly.