In the dark closet,
A boy curls up,
Holding his mother’s saree,
Breathing in her scent,
Feeling her close.

Her smell, still there,
In the fabric, in the air,
He hugs her clothes tight,
Pretending she’s not gone,
But she is.

The day she died,
The house filled with whispers,
With sobs and sorrow,
Marigolds and incense,
Tears falling like rain.

They carried her away,
Draped in white cloth,
A final goodbye,
The world a blur of white sarees
And tear-streaked faces,
His heart breaking.

The flames roared high,
Her body becoming ash,
Mantras and chants,
A soul’s farewell journey,
The boy’s heart shattered.

Tears fall softly,
His heart heavy with loss,
His mother gone forever,
Wrapped in the softness
Of her love, now a memory,
But somehow still here.

Among folds of fabric,
Her scent clings, a ghostly perfume,
A reminder of warmth, of love,
Of a mother now silent.

He curls, a small presence
In the vastness of grief,
Cradled by the softness of her clothes,
Each thread a tendril of connection,
Each breath a plea to the past.

In this cocoon of cotton and wool,
He dreams her alive,
Her laughter a lullaby,
Her touch a promise kept
In the woven relics of her life.

Mourning whispers through the fabric,
A hymn of absence and longing,
As he buries his face
In the folds that once wrapped her,
Seeking the heartbeat now stilled.

In the closet’s darkened sanctuary,
He becomes a child again,
Sheltered by the echoes
Of a love that refuses to fade,
Even in the stillness of night.

Here, he is not alone;
Her essence wraps around him,
A spectral embrace,
And in this sacred space,
He finds the courage to mourn.

A mother’s love, enduring,
Woven into the very air he breathes,
A boy’s hope, fragile,
Nestled in the scent of memory,
In the ghost of a touch.

And as the night deepens,
His tears fall, silent and unseen,
A testament to love’s endurance,
To the aching beauty of loss,
To a boy sleeping in his mother’s closet,
Where love and mourning intertwine.

Each breath he takes,
He hopes she feels,
Each night he sleeps,
He dreams she’s near,
But wakes to empty silence.

The closet’s quiet,
He finds her again,
In the smell of her clothes,
In the love they hold,
Missing her deeply,
Knowing she’s gone,
Holding on to the echoes
Of the mother he lost.

.    .    .