Seethalakshmi, mother of Vengkataramani.

She lay shriveled...
Tubes ran in and out
Of her frail hands
While life ran slowly
Out of her...


Through a round glass
In the door,
Her family watched her...
And each had different
Thoughts for her...


In the few she had
Brought to this world...
Very few cared for her
Now...and so she
Had lived...


A life of hardwork
To begin with...
To a life of schemes,
Prejudice and
Hatred...


Her sons fell apart
And she tossed around:
"You keep her...I can't do
It anymore..."
She moved, and moved...


Till one day the stroke
Made her immobile...
Put her on a bed...
And killed many of her
Brain cells...


Today she doesn't recognise
Those she loved and hated
What was the point then?
Of a life, she lived
That way...?