Grandma

For all the days I have known her,

My grandmother was old,

Holding on a few things dear to her,

My father, her stories of myth,

And a horoscope, written long ago.

I adore the tales, the faith she had,

But not the horoscope,

It spoke of death, and she submitted,

Like she had to marriage,

And day by day, her faith grew strong.

And then when it came true, my father

Broke down, yet, she had a smile,

A smile, maybe for that mythical hero,

Who had, had her faith rewarded,

So I burnt her horoscope in the pyre.

I now believe in horoscope, so I won't

Chain myself to one, I would,

Live happy and live free, till the D-day,

When death greets me, I will

Retell him my grandma's tale, arguing if heaven exists.

© Nirmalya Panigrahi