My Mother Poem by Bhartendu Second
My Mother
My Mother
She is restless in her sleep
her fingers are moving
her forehead has the customary strain of field and food
muttering to herself
she is carrying on
with the unfinished tasks
she knows no sleep or rest
she is a perenial 'karamyogi',
the tireless worker on the earth
True Rajbir, a mothers job is never finished. 10 for thinking of mum! Merry Christmas Tai
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4/24/2024 9:32:33 PM # 1.0.0.1119
even mymother is like that, never gets tired of work.