The Only Unpaid Debt

I looked at her hands,

mapped with blue veins and soft wrinkles,

like a geography of a thousand sacrifices.

They were small hands,

but they held the weight of my entire world

without ever asking for a receipt.

I am a man of character now,

building walls and chasing the sun.

But I forget that she was the one

who taught me how to walk

when the earth felt too big for my feet.

No status can match the shade of her dupatta,

no empty degree can explain the logic of a mother

who eats less so I can have more.

I squeezed my eyes,

tightly pushing my palms together.

I wanted to go back to the grit of the kitchen floor,

where the steam from her tea

was the only motivation I ever needed.

I was a new life in her lap,

a secret she kept safe from the storms of the world.

I am loyal to my work,

firm in my digital race.

But her voice on the phone

is the only "Part of me" that still feels real.

"Have you eaten?" she asks,

and in those three words,

every pain of the city disappears.

I realized that we spend our lives

looking for God in the clouds,

while He is sitting in the next room,

folding our laundry and praying for our breath.

Success is not the trophy on your shelf.

It is the smile on her face

when you finally come home.

Stay firm in your art.

Stay loyal to the woman who made you.

The universe is vast,

but it all starts at her feet.