Aniruddha Pathak Poet Sonnet

Mother Maya

And she gave one more toy to her cry-child. 
Yet, not a single look, it wailed on still,
Grew restless, hard to soothe and deeply riled, 
But as mothers do, she knew what was ill. 
She was Maya---the formless that we find,
Who strews along our paths a pile of toys
In hope that human souls, by grace inclined,
Would winnow fleeting pleasures from true joys.

Her deep illusion-clad love  we can see 
As light from darkness is at last untwined, 
From ignorance, foam from the waves of sea, 
And from Maya, mother is seen so kind.  
   And lo, when tallest of ceilings we tame, 
   We learn: ceilings and roofs are all the same.
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Sonnet | 07.01.2012, recast July 2023|
Note: Maya is traditionally seen as an elusive thing that misleads. This piece sees her as mother that in maternal care spreads a lot of toys in our path so that we know to discriminate the good from bad.

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