She Sang Again..

That frail little seedling
Shivered as I touched her,
But then swayed as if in recognition,
When I bent down to kiss those tendrils,
They warmed as if in comfort,

My mother, reduced to a handful of ashes,
Now they say has grown
Into these leaves and branches,
I seek her warmth as I press
My cheeks onto those tiny green fronds,
Did I get a whiff of the sandalwood paste
That always adorned her forehead
As I pressed my ears into the wet mud
Did I hear that sound of her chain tinkle,
That always came between my head and her bosom,
The leaflets like her fingers
Tucking my unruly hair behind the ears,
Wiping my tears away,
Did the gentle breeze hum a lullaby?
Yes, as I closed my eyes,
The sapling danced above me
And my mother sang for me once again…