Ode To My Mother Poem by Ranjit Ravindran

Drenched cloth-lines
Fermented milk
Broken utensils
Fungus coated pickle
Are instances when
My mother appears lost

But these are just trifles
Compared to her potential
Of exploring new causes
For sustaining her worries

Ah! The Art of Worrying
Glory to thee
For you are what defines
The stereotyped mother

She ought to be the focus
Of all the pain
She ought to be the cloud
For emotions to rain

She ought to ignore
Her energy drain
To be labeled herself
A mother humane

Surrendered to fate
Targeted to hate
She remains ornate
With sufferings innate.