By Narayani Goenka
A flower, a leaf and maybe a feather, defines her heart.
Her mind, a humble abode of peace, when senses the word “danger”, while thinking of her kids,
in no time, transforms into a hunter who can master any weapon,
while looking out for the most formidable of beasts,
trying to prey on a human who is made of her blood.
Maybe that is why when I lose a drop of blood, she cries as if she has lost hers.
A flower transforms into a warrior and we call her by the name of “mother”,
for it takes not the heart of gold, but the heart of stone to be one.