Maa,
You made me,
Cell by cell; inch by inch; foot by foot,
You made me;
See the light of the day
And the dark of the night;
I exist because you do.
You bore nine months of hell, only to see me cry!
Nature’s ironies are the strongest…
Yes, there were times;
When I wished you would be someone else’s mother,
But now I take my words and wishes back
And envy ‘those’ whose mother you would be-
Had my wish come true.
Mom,
I may not show it every time, everywhere
But I do love you,
A lot-
“Call me after you reach,
Call me after you eat,
Call me just like that”
Oh mom! I’d never understand you;
But you do, you understand me
Even when I don’t…
On lazy afternoons, I dream of you and me
Sitting side by side, talking or doing nothing-
I dream of myself, sharing stories
And making you laugh. You would, I’m sure,
Even if they weren’t funny.
Mother,
You’re my sword and my shield;
Against the world, though I may not talk
To you much, but I’m talking, right now;
Through this bad, spontaneous poem
People who consider themselves unfortunate enough
Not to be blessed with a mother are wrong,
For they themselves are their mother’s blessing;
I love you mother,
Maybe nearly not as much as you do me;
But somewhere near
I’ll try to be half as good to people,
As you are with me;
I’ll try; to imbibe what you’ve taught me-
I’ll try; to be half as good as you’re.
Biswadeep
Biswa Writes 