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My Mother at Sixty Six by Kamala Das

Driving from my parent’s home in Cochin last Friday morning, I saw
My mother beside me, doze open mouthed,
her face ashen like that of a corpse and realised with pain that
she was as old as she looked, but soon put that thought away,
and looked out at Young Trees sprinting, the merry children spilling
out of their homes, but after the airport’s security check,
standing a few yards away, I looked again at her wan pale face as a late winter’s moon,
and felt that old familiar ache, my childhood fear,
but all I said was, see you soon, Amma,
and all I did was smile and smile and smile….

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