My Grandmother, the Wild Spirit

She greets me with a smile of relief
She brings me in with sadness
She sits down on the couch beside the bed
Waiting for me to lend her my ear.

She is a wild spirit
Shackled by old age and walls.
She is caged now; a prisoner of her own devices
Shattered by the dependence which is neglected.

She opens a box
She takes out her first cry
Then she pauses, and talks about the next one.
With each passing word
She digs deeper into her past.

Passing time in lonely sadness
With the constant notion of victimhood
She makes me want to hold her in my arms
Letting her feel loved.

She puts eye drops to moisten her dry, old and paining eyes
Just to hold back the tears.
She rubs her thumb on her palm
To control the flow of tears.

I dare not wish anything for her
For I am a child.
She’s the mother of the foetus that brought me into this world
And, I don’t know her nights.

May the light shine upon those four walls
That bring darkness to her sight.
May the roads be safe and level
For her to walk in the wild.

Pranam Abbi is a 3D artist by profession and a poet, music producer by passion. He lives in Gurgaon and loves his country but not its government.

Featured image credit: Pixabay