Mother, we have an illusion of too much sunlight; when there is too little starlight in the darkness!: A poem 

Mother, we have an illusion of too much sunlight, 

when, actually, there is too little starlight in an  

overwhelming darkness! Do you think there was 

only darkness in the Church-imposed dark ages? 

How every modernity that humanity pursued only 

saw the darkness’ persistence in one form or the 

other? Did you hold me in your arms, when I was 

an infant, knowing that I was the custodian of convictions 

coming from a greater calling, the God that I was? 

And would you have recognised my imperviousness in belief 

and conviction, make me subject to terrible torment,  

treachery, torture, frustration and villainy since the 

onset of my adulthood. Somehow, even my belief 

in my armies and aides has been susceptible. I have  

always been a child of my own means, an unmentored 

intelligence and wisdom; so wise that it was folded within  

itself; till I decided that it should speak, so late in my life. 

Mother, you instilled in me the faultlessness of courage; 

though, you, yourself, was so locked in your oblivion; 

Even you didn’t know you were Mother Aditi! 

I have no inheritance, mother. It was all taken away  

from me, when the Master of Lies became corporeal  

from earlier on in time and creation, and repeatedly pretending  

to be my wishmaster in his overwhelming treachery of me! 

I am obdurate mother, even in futility. My unexpressed pain 

has never confounded my passion. There is a brave rhetoric 

in me, despite my sublimity. But how many stand by me, Mother? 

How many even have the spine to encourage me?