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Shishir Mishra



Shishir Mishra


Mother's Love

Mother's Love

2 mins

In the darkest night,

With memories of my mother's love,

And her touch, I died,

I died and reached the painful-hub,

It was a long queue there in the hell,

And I saw a lot families faces,

My friends my relatives my enemies as well,

But one of these faces, gave traces,

Traces of love, traces of trust,

Traces of worry, traces of care,

Traces of pain, traces of sacrifice,

It was the face of my mother,

There was worry on her forehead,

Her eyebrows, her worry described further,

Her eyes were overflowing and were red,

She was bent from her waist,

And even she had not the stick,

That she used to walk and rest,

Of that giant villa it was the building brick,

She died not because of her age,

But because the stick broke,

To that irresponsible stick she always had a gaze,

It broke even after all her care and hope,

And a bitter and interesting truth,

Is that I was the stick,

I had a lot proud on my youth,

But she cared for me even if she was sick,

She died not because of her age,

But due to my stuff,

She saved me from everything and got no wage,

Wage! Money was just zilch and rough,

Why was she in the hell?

Not because she did wrong for herself,

But in spite of saving me from dark well,

She did wrong to everyone for myself,

Then suddenly it happened what I didn't want,

A line joined my eyes to her,

The fire between us didn't grant,

Me a single word to utter,

She was in a queue less traveled by,

Again she died by me replacing,

To her place and her to mine, Ah! I sighed,

She went into the sinner's fire leaving all her blessing,

And there stand I in the queue of zilch-sin,

Stand I alone there with the virtual win,

My heart was sobbing but her heart did win,

In saving the sinner from the God of sin.

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