Her palm has gone hard, they say
Their mother's palm....
Whatever she touches, becomes dirt to them
And for so, they prefer not to see her..
Not for boys like us, irrespective of age,
We will continue to be children,children to grew her! ! !
Oh Daman,my sweet Daman
So many years ago,
Through the dark and angry forest,she weaned me
For many nights,into the desolate island of dream
She run through,with my noisy tears,
No sleep,no rest..
Yet she sails silently so...
Oh! ! Daman
Her skin, forever fresh, like the westwind from
Old gracian urn
Her words are arrows, and shield covering
Me from a world that never really loved me
Her smiles per my tries are treasures in my bank
Even in my after-life
You,the confort in times of distress
The peace weltering my storm, each time
I set out to sail,
In my hopelesness, searching for love under some
Lost in transit, Daman voices echoes my return
I hear her from under foreing skies
For no matter how far I roam my soul is in the village
That village is where I breath life
Oh Daman! ! !
May life in its longetivity find you a home
They say,which love is greater,for a man
The Wife or the Mother... For boys like us that is easy
We have seen none look our eyes when the jungle was harsh
We have seen hot tears from our mothers eyes when the world was against us
We have seen,pain as our mothers next of kin, to some errors we made,
Daman never thinks twice to give all her air for a single breath....
I hope this answers their question
Oh Daman! !
My precious mother! !
Like a spec of dust, I am only one of the joys the world has given you....
Forget me not in your prayers
Oh Mother! ! ! !
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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