Beyond our limits we strive to love
But forget to reminisce own mother’s love,
For nine heavy months she carries the child
Caresses the child with tender hands mild.

In her holy pilgrimage of eternal life
Nourishes her babe nice even in strife;
Though her husband grants one handful of love,
She serves offspring with two handfuls of love.

Mother’s the Muse and metamorphose
Her words all humane, divine, I disclose,
In the cradle of hopes comforts to sleep,
She craves for bliss with eager to reap.

Sings in tunes, converses with the boon;
Spends dreamy nights, sleepless more,
Knocks at poet’s senses from door to door.

Mother is all, a goddess from above,
And she is the emblem of original love;
Theme of the vedas echoes in her words sweet,
Anything greater than mother’s love, sweet?