She gave more and more toys to her cry-child,
Not a look and she wailed ever more still,
Restless, disconsolate, wanton, and wild,
But, as mothers do, she knew what was ill.
So doth Maya— the Mother amorphous,
She piles in people's paths pageants of toys
Hoping that we be wise and virtuous,
That, we ferret out jeers faking as joys;
Her love, illusion-clad, is what we see,
As light transcends darkness, and truth entwined
In clouds of ignorance, water of sea
Hidden hind waves; we see life's glues that bind;
Only when tallest of ceilings you tame,
You know: ceilings and roofs are all the same.
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Sonnets | 07.01.12 |
Topic: Maya, mother, child
The love of mother to her child is immeasurable and invaluable. She can do as per child's need for this love. You have brought out a marvelous poem on child and mother with their activities, jeering and playing. Nice penmanship. Thanks for sharing.
You're right in your analysis. Thanks for visiting with such encouraging feedback dear KM.
She piles in people's paths pageants of toys/Hoping that we be wise and virtuous/That, we ferret out jeers faking as joys/Her love, illusion-clad, is what we see....brilliantly expressed sir! A beautiful poem.....10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Mother taking care of her child/children. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Thanks for visiting this poem dear EKL