Mother a Multifaceted Personality

A dead tree looks like a stone Of thousand years black, fissured and tan-faced, But still no hopes to fall down: The secret is that she holds the invisible Beauty steady and faithful. Although she is dead by body but Still alive in her warm sighs of beauty. To make the unseen beauty visible, You've to be poetic. The body is reduced to ashes some day But beauty never perishes. Between a dead tree and a mother I find a sweet simile! When a mother holds a pen The world comes to her feet, And implores to be her slave. Mother is a such a subtle flower That blooms through all the year. Mother is a wax If someone good or evil Comes to her, he or she becomes Liquefied by her warm. Mother is a blooming lotus in the nectar, But that ambrosia becomes poisonous When a hornet stings the lotus. Literature isn't possible bare mother- Even, except her there is no identity of father, What we are today! What we were yesterday! And what we shall be- All credit goes to mother: the symbol Of all women.