Mother

I am angry with you Mother

For letting me trouble you

all these years

since my birth and even before

Why would you stand at the door

waiting for me to come home?

Every minute's delay weighing heavy on your heart.

That, when I have a jolly good time

laughing with a friend

or listening melodies while I travel.

It makes me guilty later,

and angry.

You laugh it off

when I complain.

I am surprised at you Mother

How you hold for everyone

concern and more concern?

From where did you learn

to love your children with such magnitude?

What is it that makes this bond heavenly?

And at the same time

keeps you on your guard and restless always?

How?

How can all this come naturally to you?

What is it that I don't understand

and you cannot explain?

You are a mystery Mother

how grave, you don't even know.

You don't care to know

like I do, in vain.

I scold you Mother

When I work all night

on some college project

and you keep coming in my room

inventing petty excuses

and timidly ask me

"How much more work is left?"

Let me deal with at least something

all on my own Mother.

Why would you not sleep

just because I have not?

Still you wake up the earliest

to make breakfast for your girl.

Why so selfless?

You make me afraid Mother

When I will go away,

soon enough,

I would not know how to live

without you.

Still you will make me

angry, surprised and scold you

for worrying over me more than myself.

If being a mother is to be like you,

I am scared of the future.

You have set standards too high,

unreachable, impossible.

I have no clue

how to love like you love

how to care like you care.

I am disillusioned Mother.

The mystery you hold in your soul,

the unpronounceable answers

you will take away with you

one day.

Solitude will be mine.

I am afraid to admit

I do think about and dread the life after.