Wrote one more.
"In spite of that, they call this Friday good." - TS Eliot
I still remember that black blouse you wore.
I still remember how your skin shone like the sun
In the sky, the black clouds gathered
You swore
It being Good Friday, it would rain
Everytime it did
& I, child that I was, believed
Now you are gone
But still I do
Remember
And still, believe
Against all odds
That it rains
Each Sad Friday, now
In your absence
and do you know, mother, it still does.
In Thiruvananthapuram
or where'er I am
now the raindrops fall
on my upturned face
streak it like tears
no more just for Him
but for you, too
gone to your home
the sky is crying
for you are to me
what His mother was, to Him.
I still remember how your skin shone like the sun
In the sky, the black clouds gathered
You swore
It being Good Friday, it would rain
Everytime it did
& I, child that I was, believed
Now you are gone
But still I do
Remember
And still, believe
Against all odds
That it rains
Each Sad Friday, now
In your absence
and do you know, mother, it still does.
In Thiruvananthapuram
or where'er I am
now the raindrops fall
on my upturned face
streak it like tears
no more just for Him
but for you, too
gone to your home
the sky is crying
for you are to me
what His mother was, to Him.
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