By Soumya Bhardwaj
An apple to the eye for one,
An ordinary being for another
This is the story of a woman,
Who scratches the surface of coal
In search of gold.
She climbs the steps
With broken legs,
Gets caught in the sand,
Still fights not to get buried in the land.
The reality of the world is appalling;
It’s the deeds that keep on sprawling,
Gets restricted in her motion
She has to prove her promotion.
What a shame to witness:
A mother lost in the sphere of her compass,
Gets the tag of ‘leisure’
From her very own children
Whom she treasures.
People talk about warriors on the battlefield,
But forget to salute the one who made them breathe.
The most ‘precious’ entity,
Still with little ‘identity,’
Catches her breath every day
To live the life of a stray?
Values which she inculcates
Get tossed on the furnace;
‘The mother’ hence becomes the slave of her own endurance.
The story doesn’t end here
There are floods of words which can slash and tear,
But mankind isn’t strong enough to bear
The warmth of a mother
Who only knows to spare.
They say she ranks before the almighty,
Then why does she get despised so blightly?
As if a mother equals an ‘object,’
You use her to excel in all your projects.
But she will still stand by your side,
Even if she gets left far behind.
The world needs to be pleased with such a creation
And cherish her worth,
Because a mother will never leave you in the dirt.
She is more than a procreator
Can be angry, proud, loving, or strict
A human no one can ever ‘evict’.