My Mother: A poem 

When she was born, I swore that she would be wed 

to my Dad; and it happened as I said 

For I was her father-in-law and her son 

Like so many times in past lives it was done 

And she was always innocent, but had a wisdom so dear 

She was blessed with an immense sense of duty, always sure 

All the strength the sun gave her, light’s flowers so pure 

There is so much grace in silent sacrifice; its memory endures 

We don’t bow down to evil treachery even if it breaks 

these bonds; and our loved ones are ours even if evil takes 

The merchandise of belief and faith has the highest stakes 

Not the Church of Christianity, with Prakash Saint Paul’s lies and fakes 

I can remember her as Mother Mary; I was her second son James 

I was the chosen one; the evil deep sea fishy Church monopolised its preferred names 

How the world adopted the crucifix of woe, and lost its flame! 

Mother, I know you will always be mine, despite their treacherous games