Ode To The Mother's Lap Poem by Sajad Meer

When i flit by the city,
Ennui; my motherland, the lee.
Through the faces of the boredom,
The serrates of hades in sum.
How unending, the numerous, the wishes,
The fancies turn to be the glassy beams,
Circulated into the single dishes,
Revival of the kiddish names.
As i heard her in the laps,
Many quilts wound luna in piece,
Let me to the lap of her paradise,
And breeze onto her bough, the naps.
O Mother, O Mother.....thine love,
The heart could haven't been spent,
Thy brushes her lashes now,
Onto the ashes of the hell bent.
The town revisited me, else i was gone,
Now when the white embers are sown,
let you paint the earth,
On the ashes of my birth.
Oft i long for the bucket,
Of honey, would pour into me,
Fill the cold and raw with gee,
Could beat the best nugget.

© Sajad Meer,2013