Essy The Poet

When a fresh mound simmered on her head, My heart was a thousand pieces. Everybody’s faces a million creases She was no more. Now, the fresh mound is a garden, beautiful and colourful, Just the way she would have liked. And a million rays of memories gushing forth old wisdom.   The mother of my mother, a remarkable woman…. About school, would say: Read and read, daughter of my daughter And come riding motorcars and flying planes….   The mother of my mother, a remarkable woman…. Her philosophy, would be: ‘If everybody’s head is chopped off and each asked to pick randomly, I would still pick mine. You never know what people’s minds rummage through, Day and night. At least I know mine.’   To the lazy would ask: ‘Who disengaged your shoulder joint, So that you are fed without lifting your hands, So that the sun is standing while you are seated? So that the sheep and goats are still caged at noon, While your belly is bulging with satisfaction! Don’t be like the swallow who cries all night;