In the small sunny balcony
that faces the western hills,
on one breezy, summer day
Mom kept some pots of clay.
In all those, she sowed seeds –
Carrom, mustard and chillies.
Then there were some more
with spinach and tomatoes.
A special pot held the Tulsi.
In two, red-rose bushes grew.
And in a few, with large leaves
grew the ornamental varieties.
That’s a lovely garden in a flat!
What more could one say to that?
But there are things more beautiful
that Mom cultivated in my soul.
The seeds of “Happiness” and “Hope”
have grown like great green oaks.
The “Never Give Up,” with strong roots
has spread deep into my attitude.
A special rambler called “Love”
yeilds buds redder than blood
on the spiraling stalk of “Prayer”
that shoots right up to the heavens.
While bunches of “Music” and “Wit”
speckle the hedge of “Do Your Best.”
As the keeper of this sacred garden,
she waters, hoes, trims and prunes.
Wouldn’t it be correct to state, then
that she’s the Gateway between
the Mortal me and the Divine?
My Mother – my angel in disguise.