It has been years,
Remembering your passing.
Mostly because I want to forget,
The multitude of regret.

I have nothing, no memories,
Just a video of you,
Just a few pictures,
That has some joy inside.

It is true,
The story I heard,
When you were a child,
You were shielded by Nature.

I remember my aunt,
Retelling and recalling,
Something that resembled a tall tale,
When you were young.

A bookworm you were,
When you were a child,
Eldest by default,
Made to do chores galore.

For a family of many,
Those were different times,
Where a girl/woman was treated different,
Where being female meant subservience.


You were resting,
Reading a book,
Not aware,
That Nature protected.

Where you sat,
The place of rest,
Came slithering,
To warm and protect.

From others who saw,
It coiled and spread its hood,
Protecting your head,
Away from the sun.

In your tired stupor,
You did not know,
You did not see,
Which others saw in horror.

As the noise soared,
People gathered,
The slithery reptile,
Made a beeline for the hills.

Thus, was the life of this child, Dixy,
Someone Nature felt was divine.
The King cobra was the sign,
That her soul was on the steep incline up.

She was the dutiful daughter,
That was always faltered
By the expectations of family,
And was prevented from moving ahead.

I will stop for now,
I will keep writing,
It is you,
That I will keep highlighting.
Dixy, my mother mine.