When the clouds of gloom hover on mind,
I run to seek shelter on her lap.
She is no one else but mom, one of her own kind.
Finding absolute solace on that little but so big lap, I take a flight to my cherubic childhood, birding a gap.
Years before when trees were innocent
Flowers and birds had their own scent
When the universe looked like a pure paradise
And people were not just worldly wise
When I would get my doll married,
Squabbling with my younger brother,
over his snatching my candy,
that to my tender bosom, I closely carried.
The paradise was there in the lap
And elsewhere rather everywhere too.
Then suddenly the innocence of the trees flew,
The cunningness and deceit in flowers began to grew
The bewitchingly beautiful birds too disappeared
In remote corners were sometimes found feared
The little doll was no more little and cute
No music was rather left in her flute
Outside mother’s lap the heaven got disfigured,
With the disgust of Men so Brute
Exuding then a scary scream,
I run to Mother’s lap.
Some part of Heaven still protected there
Fair enough
To make my soul flutter and clap….
