On Mother’s Day: A poem 

A lullaby to love. Chrysalis’ butterfly 

in motherhood’s pain, is not asking why 

And on this day, did you obligingly say 

Mother, my path is the devotion you lay? 

And all things nice, if her unfailing sacrifice 

was looked upon as her character’s vice 

Then all her mighty resounding deeds 

would be the world’s biggest crime’s seeds 

When you feel ungracious, as you grow up 

and callously break her heart like a cup 

Would it vapourise her sweat and tears 

of all these thankless unaccounted years? 

She will forgive, even if she must go it alone,  

ingratitude’s unrewarding heart of stone 

Yet, she will always, eternally love you 

And never her love, at any point, rue