Dedicated to all the Mothers whom I consider as Atoms of Love.
|That Omnipotent depiction of Women, made my vanity state Lumen.She sculptured my transition from her Womb into the World she savored.That World was just her scent and cuddle It was the last time in my tryst with Manhood I loved devoid of utterance.Gave her sleepless Nights with alchemistic cries, maybe cries from my past sins.Like a Sloth clinging on her hairs and lips I ceased my realization of Human race.Life began with a love story and a very significant one on it's part.Those tender emotions were seeping and settling inside for my ultimate showdown with Valley of Love.
Ironically speaking, no one remembers those infant moments.She recites some of them, an old footage, album, those nostalgic talks at dinner table blend to unveil past trends.Everyday her loyalty defeats my perception of love for her.Its more than saying 'Bye Maa' before leaving for an expedition.Its more than calling her on Mothers day and its more than lying yourself out in front of her knowing she love you too much to ask for a justification.She is the beginning of everything good or evil, but this is a curse even the old man up in the heavens(God) is tied with.Every human aspiration, baffling scientific contraptions, War on mankind, the rich, the poor are nothing but nine months of her tribulations which she calls a blessing.
In our quest for thrust, amid our contradiction between lust and love we leave her in oblivion, in a kitchen making cuisines for our never filled stomachs shying away from even few good laughs.We cry our eyes out for love to calm our anxious senses without figuring out the Woman most dear to us to realize that phantom element which set Women apart from Men.
She is the Identity and Religion I feel.
She is the prayer flowing in air.
She is the Sea of love without salt.
She is serenity personified.
She is the melody of lullaby.
She is endurance of a Monk
She is the taste of cuisines and cultures.
She is the Tear of War.
She is the dew of fresh Morning
She is the Heart of Silkworm.
She is Mahatma Gandhi and Shakespeare.
Our affection for her ought to shoot up from this day to the truth of separation.We may fail to find the fabricated love, we may gain less than few, we may lose the rat race but we owe something to that Lady.We owe her our very first step, our very first touch, very first breath and as I said earlier our very first Love story.