The Mother

The first swing and the strongest anchor... the life's support system - "Mother".

The first swing and the strongest anchor… the life’s support system – “Mother”.


Can words ever describe her…? or any feelings for her?
What would one compare her with…
Sky? – Not big enough
Ocean? – Not deep enough
Air? – Not light enough
Water? – Not soft enough…

The first ecosystem, first incubator,
first admirer and first facilitator…
The First shelter, first protector,
First medicine and first doctor.
First sheet to cover one self with, and
of course the very first cushion.

There’s no teacher before her, no teaser, no spoiler.
She’s the firs love, and She’s the first lover.

One can try comparing her with cold breeze
in scorching days of summer,
but it’s in breeze’s nature to lose its direction,
yet mother – she’s a comfort with persistence.

One can try comparing her with the star enormous,
the guide and shining compass,
but even star becomes invisible for an extended period,
yet mother – she’s a consistent beacon.

One can try comparing her with the water streams,
running down a rigid hill,
but even  river can split into two contrasting ends,
yet mother – she has absolutely no conflict of interest.

One can try comparing her with the carpet green,
under the shades of gigantically rich trees,
but even greenery emerges and blooms in the patches,
yet mother – she’s a fruit of all seasons.

One can try comparing her with the rare oasis,
amidst the desert in state of stasis,
but even oasis has a finite supply of water,
Yet mother – She’s a cloud with infinite elixir.

She’s an initiation into the world this complex,
where we as adults get more lost than ever,
where head gets heavy with each passing day.
These hair too get dirty and dusty…
but observe how they lose all curls and dust
they picked up while traversing the world
this complex, as she slides her hand in them.

Here she whispers “Everything’s gonna be fine”
and there a charm is casted on entire universe,
the lullaby becomes magic, her words are spell.

It’s like labyrinthine transforms into a garden
and all riddles – the puzzles convert into flowers.
Immediately sending even most insomniacs of us
to the moon and space, elevating whole body
in an instant, as soon as the head rests in her lap.

These hands working throughout the day become
hard as concrete yet melt when they touch her feet.

Lips like these that keep themselves tight for whole day
lose their resistance, when she calls the bluff out.
Yes, she knows in second when child is lying or not.

This tongue that no matter how many times rants and
curses throughout the day, yet becomes so soft,
just to have her blessings be mixed into our wishes.

This purse no matter how heavy it gets, still survives
on a pocket-money she bestows from her own hands.

This face looses each day its features,
This soul acquires each day new colors…
yet it is seen and admired all the same.
And one can’t be ever old or grown up to her,
no matter what the age.

She would love the children to the dying breath
regardless of whatever is happening around or
even with-in her…
or no matter how does her own blood or even
the whole universe treats her…

How to imagine any person in the world, “any”… that has
love enough and unconditional to shower as mother’s grace?

How to measure countless nights of waking up to make child sleep,
what account could be for non-stop work in the restless days.

How can one ever fathom deepest desires that she holds
for her children, all the great wishes invested in one place…

So who am I to describe her? who am I to praise her??
Leave god and goddesses – I know not about them.

For me…
She’s the creator, she’s the sustainer.
She’s the faith foremost,
She’s the ceaseless supporter.
She’s the culture, root of civilization.
She’s the foundation and refuge of every child.
She’s the first and always a biggest certainty in this uncertain world.

No words can ever imprint the mother’s love for their children.

– Dedicated to all the mothers around the world and of course specially to my mother… 🙂

Art/ Image References:

1. “The Mother” – An old click used for the piece.
2. Mom and Baby Silheoutte –