My Mother’s Perfume

She smiled in the mirror

while braiding her hair

with fair daisies.


She pinned them tightly

then draped on her

Rosy-pink saree like in 1980s.


Her face gleamed with joy

The kohl in her doe-eyes

Was a reason to many broken-hearted cries.


The pink lily talcum perfumed her cheeks

I look at her fondly

as Amma walks past me

like a summer breeze.







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