I remember her...

Calling up my name,
with charisma on her face.
I've returned from school,
was her moment of the day.

Caressing my hair
with her tender hands she enjoyed.
I'd never leap into the whirlwind,
mumbled all the time as she prayed.

Lying down next to me,
telling stories of her old days,
I had seen her smitten
with beauty, love and grace.

Love of both mother and father,
conjointly she adored and cared.
I had seen her sullen,
when I was scolded or dared.

Years went by
O! My grandmother
got sick-old and white-haired.
Thin and bemused in the evening of life,
now she behaves like a baby bairn

She has so much of me in her heart,
expresses her pale face.
Bit by bit she is losing consciousness of
anything that comes into place.

In her own world now, wandering frailly in a daze,
she seeks me in the haze,
to call up my name
with the same charisma on her face.