Mother, the most valuable word
In the world ever now.
Every one respect this little word
Over any other verbose thing.
Write poems on mothers.
Sing songs on them too.
Throw columns page after page.
also observed In many countries with pride. Some meet with mother
On that day once a year.
Share the memorable
Things with other;
Occurred with mother.
But the Most oppressed
Living person in the earth;
Is this mother oneself also.
One mother doesn’t get
Handful rice; thrice a day.
To consol the belly
Stand beside the road
With a broken dish.
Or seek food on the dustbin.
Another has no roof on the head.
She goes to the sty of the town.
To be hided from the burning sun;
From the blizzard like wind.
Another has no dress to cover
The body that bears the child;
For long days with acute pain.
She wears the sack of jute,
With a pathetic smile
On the face.
The alive Mother should be
Getting much more from us.
Not the word mother only.
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