An Ode to My Mother

As the dusk creeps across the night sky,

The sunlight gets faint and dies,

Different hues change the patterns of the untouched art,

People finish their chores and depart.

Time changes from hour to hour,

Distances get measured near and far,

Evening predicts the day’s result made up or lost,

Merchants end up calculating their cost.

Hustle bustle of the people snatch the silence of the path,

Crowding the spaces, cooling off their wrath.

In my thoughts lost, heading the habitual way,

Still radiant after the long day, sets the last ray,

Destination reached, I take a sigh clutching my ware,

Before even an eye can stare,

I hear the repeated phrase, the voice low but clear,

“Are you home, my dear?”