Happy-going was thy life sans thy ‘mother’,
For thou had been with thy begotten mother,
And she was thy grandmother whose love for thee,
And thou been in her bosom always couched.

Her bosom been thy cushion that had nurtured thee,
Since thy infancy she had been thy care and shield,
Thou hadst sucked her breasts with no milk but love,
She’d bathed in and out and dressed thee with her fondness.

Each of thy steps she’d designed was a melody,
She’d spent sleepless nights for thy peaceful sleep,
And each night she’d keep her eyes awake,
And her heart had been open always to share joy with thee.

Mirth and laughter had played in thy life with thy begotten mother,
There’d been no gloomy moments in the phase of thy life,
There’d been birds of joy and showers of delight,
Thou hadst travelled along the way of smiles and hilarity.

The sun begun to dawn amidst chirrups of morning birds:
The clock had kept ticking breaking the silent moments of time,
The climax of the saddest event had reached its severity:
The minute hand of the clock had ceased to move on.

The clock had ceased its ticking, and her breath been taken away;
Her time on earth had ended, and everyone has one’s time;
There been none to give key to the clock, and the clock had died,
And there been into the dust buried thy dead begotten mother.

Alas! The veil of darkness had fallen upon thy mirth and laughter:
For thy begotten mother been swallowed by the dust of the earth;
Nevermore her breasts sans milk thou would suck;
And nevermore she would be thy care and shield.

Thou been running helter-skelter across roads with screams of grief;
Thou been left an orphan despite handful of thy blood relationships;
Who had never turned up unto thee for thy comfort;
Who would eat and go as their traditions say.