A mother’s tale

She stood by the window, Gazing at the blue sky above,

Her fingers deftly knitted the blue cardigan,

And her mind’s eye weaved her dreams,

Dreams of the baby in blue.

She caressed her stomach bloated big ,

And reassured the tiny life inside,
It was a part of her being,

A slice of her soul,

It was her life.

She did not know what it would be,

But the enigma emboldened her all the more,
Her movements were tedious,

But the palpitations inside, They enthralled her to the core.

She did not care ,

That she looked hideous,

But the visage of tiny hands and face,

It made her look radiant,

It made her smile.

The day came when searing pains tore her apart,
She cried and shrieked,

She was all clammy in her own sweat,
But an ethereal smile lit her face,

As she held the soft bundle on her arms.

There were tears in her eyes, As she saw what she had created,
The tiny hand clasped her finger tight,
She looked at with love untold,

As her dreams began to unfold.

When her baby smiled, she smiled,

And it’s tears made her cry too,
Not a wink she slept,

When her little one wept,

And she loved it all the more.

She wanted the best for her baby,
She would fight all odds,

And untie all the knots,
She would move heaven and earth to get,

What her little one set her finger on.

She held the hand so tight and never letting it go,

Come what might,
But unlike Cupid, her love was not blind,
She took the child to task,

If ever it tread on the path not right.

She initiated her child to sieve the chaff from the grain,

And discern what was right,
She inculcated the good values,
She taught her little one all what she knew,
She bequeathed on it all her life lessons.

She ingrained in her child a piece of herself,

She moulded it into a person to be loved,
She was a hard task master, And all hell broke never broke loose,

When the little one tarried or played fool.

She held the little hand in all high and lows,
She still clutched the hand, Now when the child’s fingers no longer fitted into hers,
The child now towered over her petite and frail form,
But her embrace did not slacken.

Her love did not recede,

It was always there,
She loved without any ends,
No questions were asked,

Or terms and conditions set.

Her love was a reflex,

That gushed forth spontaneously,
It could not be defined, because it was one of its kind,
She loved to love and not to bind.

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