I had not seen god, true!
I had never been to heaven,
I had never buckled my shoe
Till I met, in life, a person….
Who happened to be someone
I call mom, and she called me son.
Streams of divine love, in her lap
Would flow with constant zeal
She never felt any generation gap
And if she felt, she wouldn't reveal.
My grief, my pain, she would heal
Her feathery touch was a divine seal.
When I was seven, she left her son
With her mortal duties, perhaps she was done!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem