My Mother Knows Best

My mother knows best,

The cure for boredom—

A canvas to paint,

Stories to weave,

Or puzzles to solve

Or origami

Where paper turns into art

With each crease and fold.

She knows the best melodies;

She plays Chopin and Debussy,

She knows the best books to read;

She’ll guide you—

Dostoevsky for faith,

Marquez for magic,

And Plath for a reality check.

The best poetry:

Kamala Das or Wisława Szymborska

Though her favourite is Akhmatova's Last Toast

She knows it by heart

Every day, without a fail

She recites it to my dad 

And she taught it to me too.

She knows the best clothes,

Her pashmina shawls collection,

Each piece a story.

She knows the best idioms for every moment,

And if she doesn't, 

She shares the best phrase—

“This too shall pass.”

And when it comes to travel,

She knows the best spots,

Raving about Kobe beef in Kyoto,

Or ceviche in Lima,

Or shawarma in Saudi Arabia.

She also knew the best thing for me—

So she left,

Fading like a contrail,

Never turning back.

Her best gift for me?

Her absence.

Truly,

My mother knows best.

(I have to confess : I was watching the Tangled )