Mother

A banyan tree that shields from tropical summer sun A symbol of selfless love and sacrifice A preserver of values that modernism has shun No praise is enough, no gratitude suffice Her love for her children is like blossom of springs An angel she appears, a fairy she seems It’s a symphony for ears, the lullaby she sings The lullaby that drifts you in the valley of dreams A teacher, a guide, a philosopher, a friend An architect, a builder of beauty and grace A garden of roses that fragrance send Serenity of a lake where ducklings race She suckles her babies with white blood of breasts The hearts yearn for her bosom’s paradise She strains every nerve, sacrifices her rests Burning midnight oil with sleepy eyes The special mothers that God has blessed Maryam, Khadija, Fatema and Asiya Women par excellence, mothers at best Whether in Africa, Asia or the West Mothers are an oasis in the desert of life Their love and passion isn’t for display Chained to the oar in your perils and strife A shower of rain on a hot summer day *** (Dedicated to my mother Begum Najmunnesa, who left me alone in this world at the age of twelve and all the mothers whatever caste, creed, colour, religion and nationality they are. I salute them all) •