Mother
A banyan tree that shields from tropical summer sun
A symbol of selfless love and sacrifice
A preserver of values that modernism has shun
No praise is enough, no gratitude suffice
Her love for her children is like blossom of springs
An angel she appears, a fairy she seems
It’s a symphony for ears, the lullaby she sings
The lullaby that drifts you in the valley of dreams
A teacher, a guide, a philosopher, a friend
An architect, a builder of beauty and grace
A garden of roses that fragrance send
Serenity of a lake where ducklings race
She suckles her babies with white blood of breasts
The hearts yearn for her bosom’s paradise
She strains every nerve, sacrifices her rests
Burning midnight oil with sleepy eyes
The special mothers that God has blessed
Maryam, Khadija, Fatema and Asiya
Women par excellence, mothers at best
Whether in Africa, Asia or the West
Mothers are an oasis in the desert of life
Their love and passion isn’t for display
Chained to the oar in your perils and strife
A shower of rain on a hot summer day
***
(Dedicated to my mother Begum Najmunnesa, who left me alone in this world at the age of twelve and all the mothers whatever caste, creed, colour, religion and nationality they are. I salute them all)
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