Dedicated to all mother’s
Translated with tears in eye
By an old granpa of 84( P.R.Ramachander)
This mother makes a moon
On a dosa thawa
It may be father’s home
But for us it is n mother’s home only
Mother’s office is in kitchen
Her salary is our affection
Her children may be working abroad
But in her house neighbor’s children are eating
Father lives below sun
But mother below a moon
WE find perfume of moon in her kitchen
If we fall sick , we do not need medicine
Mother’s hand which touches our forehead often is more than sufficient
Hey friends who tease us seeing turmeric mark on our new shirt
It is not just turmeric but mother’s turmeric
Mother’s expect in bag of son who has come from another place
Only dirty cloths to wash
The peace and joy for a son,
On whom father is angry
Is only the lap of mother
When mother is sick with covid
She is sad that she cannot cook
The word for home in many people’s
Dictionary is Mother
If a man travels eighteen hours and stuggles
There is only one reason –Mother
The begger who invented to call “Oh mother”
Is a genius psychologist
You can deceive mother by telling any lie
But not the lie “ I have already eaten”
When very rarely son and father chat and laugh
Mother would wipe her eyes for dust that has not fallen
When you pack your bag to abroad
Mother packs it tight with her affection
When school children have to pay fees,
Kids ask mother ,
for she will get it some how
Or
take from father’s packet
and be scolded
Though father and mother are inside home
WE knock and call “Oh mummy”
In all the poems written about mother
There will be two wet drops of tears
The great slogan of all mother’s are
My child cannot tolerate hunger
