Wednesday, 9 October 2013


They asked me if a mother was the sun
or the moon that brought us light.
If she was the sky
or the stars that twinkle at night.

I thought
the sun,the moon, the sky, the stars
are all proud about the way they are.
They shine, they glow, they twinkle, they roar
all this only to belittle their role.

And because a mother is not one big thing
but a million little stuff
I said she is all or may be she is none.

As I peeped out of the window in the stormy night
a modest little tree caught my sight.
It was enduring the heavy rains without a sigh.
This simplicity set my answer outright.

And I said,
She is the wet tree who in the morning
tells you that it rained last night
but doesn't give you a hint herself
it was she indeed who was crying in plight.