by Atul Chandra Sarkar
I can still see her spin
The roti on the griddle,
A smile cute and little,
In the center of her dimple.
I can recall the whistle
Of escaping steam,
From hot lips of the roti:
Brown and cream.
I can smell wheat flour:
Fresh baked and crisp,
I can feel it singe
My eager tongue-tip.
A long span of absence
Separates my mom and me?
Yet, I’m under her feathers
Whenever I‘m lonely.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Double Post Graduate in Philosophy and Sociology and LLB degree-holder, a Gold Medalist from Canning College, University of Lucknow, U.P. India. Presently engaged as Advisor (Industrial Relations) and Public Information Officer (Corporate) at Uttar Pradesh Rajya Vidyut Utpadan Nigam Ltd., Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh, India and is a Guest Faculty at Electricity Training Institute, Sarojini Nagar, Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh on the Right to Information Act, 2005. An Advocate registered with the Bar Council. Articles, poems and short stories have been published in popular National dailies like Pioneer, Northern India Patrika, Times of India, Campus Verse, Shaktivani, etc. A Blogger at Times of India's speakingtree and having a flair for oil painting. A democratic, liberal and humanist to the core.
Last updated November 13, 2014