Mother's Touch

Mother’s touch always had that magic of a doctor 

Sans that ugly smell of medicines,

Remember once, just before Durga pujo,

Had fever, Maha shashti it was the day,

The day which always began the festivities, 

Ma sat beside my cot, 

Putting wet towel over my forehead,

Her bangles made curious sounds every time she touched my head; 

With end of her saree she would wipe my face, reddened lobes of ears,

 And her voice would ring like nursery rhymes, 

In my half drowsy state would I hear her singing songs for me, 

That way how Mahashashti slipped away to Dashami didn’t notice 

Then one fine morning, woke up without temperature, with Ma just beside my cot, holding a box of crayons.