As I stood by your grave

Just wrote a few words for 27th December; the death anniversary of my beloved Grandmother.

As i stood by your grave,
I couldn’t feel the world nearby,
Your hands, your memoir, saved in my heart,
I scrap them again, and still I cry,
Your hands were weak, wrinkled all around,
And the wounds of your arms, tendered with age,
Yet your feeble arms,
The most cordial, the most sheltering,
I devise them again, and still I cry.
Your voice, your words, your clamors as you cried,
As you brought up three orphans by your side,
As you cried while your son died,
Held his daughters in your hands, and prayed an cried,
Your advices …all forbear-ed, all denied,
I hear them again, and still I cry.
Your mere existence, a sanctuary for all of us,
Your subtle touch,
Your feeble words,
Your gentle smile,
And me, bereaved of it all,
I admit it again, and still I cry.
Today.. Yet another day,
Deprived of your love,
Yet I cry again.

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