Saving

My mother used to say saving always helps on a rainy day

You see she had saved up a small golden box full of hidden memories and steel pennies.

But when the grey clouds of melancholy burst inside of her

And it rained from her eyes, I knew the box couldn't save her

And that's when I realised my mom is not saving but losing herself,

She is saving up for tomorrow by not surviving today.

Yet, she still saves, those crisp 100 rupees note, the torn twenties and the handful pennies.

But how do I save up her shy smiles, her hearty giggles and the twinkle in her eyes that's missing by miles

It's she who needs saving not the other way around but we still survived

The golden box our lifeboat for days it showers unpaid bills

And so sold again is the saving piece by piece to cruel moneylender and the roadside vegetable vendor.

And yet my mother starts saving again, picking up the last scraps and the broken shreds of life that somehow remained after reality flooded in our life.

But one sunny day I find her clutching the saving close to her chest, asking it to save herself.

Her tears melting the gold, for the nameless void that she had saved in her all along refused to let anything seep in, hold her, save her soul.

She meets my eyes and instantly sneaks out a saved up smile and plasters it on her face,

But I know her sad eyes and the lines on her face and arm that she doesn't want to save but can't hide.

So, I snatch away that rotten golden box,

That thief stealing our joy, snatching her soul, for not saving enough

She is saving for me, for a better future, for the rainy days that are to come

I break the box and end the cycle of saving For no longer are we saving up pieces of us to survive on a rainy day.

The laughter now freed echoes around and

I gently kiss her fingers

For we are not saving up but living this sunny day

And that's how I save her by not saving today

She saves for me and I save her

For my mother is the only saving I needed to save all along.