Baptized, in her womb, before sacraments
Of world, made me, a pigeon-holed man
A mother, is the alchemist, who invents
From the clay, of her soul, ethos of a clan!
She made me see, what can’t, be seen
And believe in, what she, never saw
A God, who is myth, from the, same doctrine
Which makes, us awe, at our own, divine flaw!
She etched, on my, stainless mind, heart and soul
An epic, that endured, ethnic evolution
I found later, was indeed, a toll
Which makes, life a, lasting salvation!
A species, that can’t, breathe, sans creed
And measures life, by a, sin austere
From cradle, to grave, to be, never freed
My Mother, Taught Me, Faith And Fear!
© 2020 Vikas Chandra
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