The day when I was born,
I do not know how I reacted,
or how she felt.
Holding my hand she
walks straight and majestic
to the convent,
the nuns greeted her
took me to the class,
while the Head.
Sister Rose engaged my mom,
briefing her of her school days,
a noteworthy student.
The next day onward
Sister Rose stood at the gate,
took me on her arms.
threw me up in the air,
coaxed me, made me feel
at home.
Mother and daughter
relationship flourished
in terms,
she known for discipline,
never allowed me to move
out of her purview.
I have never seen my mother
break down, Stoic, she remained
at times of trial.
Her speech was measured
while her tone was soft.
She never spoke aloud.
Her skill in music was amazing.
Her buildings are resplendent
of magnificence.
Happy to be born to you, ma,
“I am your daughter who possesses
none of your excellence”.
Are you sad?
Meenas Poems 