We make for them, our tombs of love
Who acquiesce to tend, our forsworn sin
And deify her, before we shove
A ‘mother’, in the cage, of a martyr’s skin!

To suckle her love, heart’s cherished pain
In the cradle of care, ever-farmed with tears
“What’s noble in it, and what’s profane?
Ain’t she meant to be, such, for all one cares”!

No grumbles raised, in dumb charades
Between those sighs, a puckered smile
Yet she makes a rainbow, of her shades
Lent dreams, she yearns, to reconcile!

Why motherhood’s, but, a sin sublime
For an angel lost in, a fool’s paradise
Obliged, to be, a pain’s paradigm
What’s A Mother, Without Her Sacrifice!

© 2017 Vikas Chandra