Inside an impoverished hut with a fading light,
She was lying ghastly still, with her body corpse- cold,
Her wrinkled hands firmly clutching a piece of gold.
Her only daughter was sitting beside her,
Trying to fight every saline drop of tear,
Convincing the old woman in a voice so bold,
To part with that sole piece of gold.
"My time has come, dear", she murmured.
"Spending our last possession on this hag is absurd."
But you have a whole life that remains to be explored,
And so, for your future, I shall preserve this piece of gold."
"When your father was alive, he would often say,
That 'Our child will never fall prey'
'To poverty and to illiteracy', and so, here I hold,
Your true guardian, this piece of gold."
Hearing this, the daughter was deeply dismayed.
"Oh mother! Your prudence and generosity leave me dazed.
But without you, my doom is foretold,
Because nothing, but you are my priceless piece of gold."
-Disha Wahi
