My Mother
Once we were in the mother's lap,
We used to smile our legs up.
The mother used to treat us kissing our feet,
The lap's of our mom was the best playground.
Sometimes we used to cry,
Our mother would pat on our back with her cold hands.
We used to watch mother's face repeatedly,
We used to be absolutely overjoyed.
When the alphabet used to come out of her mouth,
It had seemed like a stringless garland.
She taught us how to weave images of the dreams,
I wish I could become a great poet only for her.
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