MOTHER
Whose very first countenance 
In every morn, mirrors 
The smiles and sadness
The tears and laughters
Of an entire day ;
From dawn to dusk
She is our mirror
She is our mask.

Whose hands hold the key to heaven
Palms contain balm from pain
Words harsh, moderate or kind
That our duties, to us remind ;
She is nectar, she is the poison—

Nectar of love
For a life beautiful ;
Poison of hate
Forthings damnable.

She is the hand that rocks our cradle
She is there ,from the very first babble.

Her spirit is always there
To guide us to our grave,


Till we return to our dust
And burst as a small bubble.

Copyright : saroj k. padhi