Form of god or the blessings shop,
Where the things are more than money, world and above,
She who has a golden heart,
And who forgives all although apart.
Loves she thy child whatever he is,
Criminal, lawyer, engineer or a mere piece,
She shelters him from the worlds hit,
And bears all the pain even if she cant keep.
We call her the mysterious angel or Hand of god,
Which will always remain on head of all ours,
And selflessly she serves no matter what it takes,
So proves herself without uttering a word.
Still the child sometimes doesn’t knows her worth,
And kicks her out when he knows Others,
But when he gets a stab from the world,
Returns he sleep in same lap of MOTHER.
Of what is she made, or of what not,
Is she a blessing or god in human,
Less to say for what she is,
Because no one knows when Mothers Weeps.
Atlast To Say A few Little Words,
Keep her happy & prove your Worth,
Blessed are you to get her as a rock,
Because there are tonne others who still wait for a Knock.