My Touchstone
Dedicated to all Mothers of Earth.
Burned in prosaic fire of hundreds hustling,
When I come to the veil of your smile;
I find the artistry of prosaic life,
That was surreptitious in to your glow.
You rejuvenate my sweating face
Abrade all the exhaustion and desolation.
Vanquished but contending, I, still before the Reality
I recall your consolation
No one knows, but I, that word was not to pacify
With a glimpse it was a concrete inspiration.
When at home with temperaments
I can’t be quiet without you
Sick society has manufactured me flummoxed patient
I roar to catastrophe everything.
Notwithstanding, you prevent me—
Placate me with Celtic verses,
Say, I should become a noble.
From you I learn ministration is the Religion
Ministration is Ecstasy, Achievement, and Bondage to God.
You are my near, my soul, my cell, my tongue,
My history of genetics.
I thrashed hundreds of pain on you
You cried, but not cursed
You did not shunned my wickedness,
You picked up my dream, my desire;
Invited me to correct my eyes.
Distance is intolerable
Therefore I return as I have the pulse,
I only can share me to you, but not to others
None is understandable.
I gifted you nothing
But I took like a shameless animal
I could not make you happy
Nevertheless, you smile with a gracious gaze,
Between all distress, a smile of prophet.
When I search in the dark
With fumble, stumble and ramble on a destined way
You came to show me the path with your light
And gifted me the Torch.
Strayed black sheep I was, failed to realize
In the Torch, you meant me to know who you are.
Selfless is your Love
And my cemented nerve, bothers to accept it
But I confess, my single tear drop
Has taught me to miss you.
(1994)
I dedicate this poem to my mother, to mother Mary, to mother Amena, to my country, to my language,to the mothers of all Martyrs and to them who are not mother but proved motherly affection to this universe.
