I was for my mother waiting
with huge plate which would get serving,
ignorant of how I look then
but eyeing always the across person.
Shh... I hear the anklets of my beloved
I breathe the fragrance of thy beloved
the merry giggling so lovely
her, I saw with containers filled fully.
Her eyes are twinkling and a lovely smile
adorned her enrapturing unsullied face,
all the way came the ever loving she
just to serve her dear child, me.
Aghast and dejected I was
when she served my opposite mass
busy and bereft was I and forgot
to look at my own plate my front.
"Why is it mother that you didn't serve me?"
I moaned catching her feet and grasping her knee
She looked at me and laughed at my childish tantrums,
patted my cheeks to show the truth of conundrums.
Held down my head in weeping
and gazed at the plate of my yearning,
realized I my mother's laugh and silent sermon,
"World is image of you son,
open your eyes and stop being blind,
look its the mirror and smokes all around."
Look my comrades at thy opposite person
an image and reflection, not a moron.
Turn the torch within, O traveler!
thy shall hear mirth of mother ethereal.
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