Phool Mein Jis Tarah Khushboo Achi Lagti Hai
Phool Mein Jis Tarah
Khushboo Achi Lagti Hai
Mjko”Us”Trahan “MAA”Aachi Lgti”Hay
Khudaa”Salamaat
Aur Khush”Rakhey Sub Ki
“MAA” Ko Saari”Duaoon”Mein Yeh Dua Aachi Lgati Hay.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY…!!!
mothers day 160 words messages
Happy Mothers Day Poetry
Although a daughter, I write this as a mother.
We’re both mothers now, of child-daughters:
You, a grandmother forced to be a mother,
And I, a widow, alone with my fatherless daughter.
Death has thus shaped both our lives in ways
We would not have chosen. Yet life is still the bright,
Painfully lovely thing it was always:
Our children like dancers on a dark, splendid night,
Needing our loves as I needed yours; your love
The same song as ever, a lullaby I remember
So well from my time in your arms. We move
In slow spirals towards the stars. September
Has weeks like June, yet is closer to the fall.
Love has no answers, yet its beauty answers all.
A villanelle for Mother’s Day
A villanelle for Mother’s Day
Should take me just about an hour:
Writing it is child’s play.
Because I know just what to say,
And rhyming’s quite within my power,
To write it should be child’s play.
Yet plain speech is not my way:
I look for leaves to shade my flower,
This villanelle for Mother’s Day.
I do not wish to sound too fey,
Obscure, mystic, gushy, sour–
Arggh! Writing’s never child’s play!
Yes, childish! To my dismay,
Far beyond the allotted hour,
This villanelle for Mother’s Day
Dawdles on. Let me just say
It plain: I love you, and so end our
Villanelle for Mother’s Day.
(Well … writing it was child’s play.)
Mothers Day Poems in English
A vase of flowers in a window frame.
A house of gentle light amid dark leaves.
An ecstasy so sharp it feels like anguish,
The pull that makes our beeline an ellipse.
No transcendental morning’s inspiration
So ravishes the things we never see.
We hear for all our lives a silent music
To which we dance unknowing through our time.
And even when we die, there is a beauty
Older than the cold December stars,
A part of us that waits behind the darkness
To take us once again into its arms
A mother’s love determines how
A mother’s love determines how
We love ourselves and others.
There is no sky we’ll ever see
Not lit by that first love.
Stripped of love, the universe
Would drive us mad with pain;
But we are born into a world
That greets our cries with joy.
How much I owe you for the kiss
That told me who I was!
The greatest gift–a love of life–
Lay laughing in your eyes.
Because of you my world still has
The soft grace of your smile;
And every wind of fortune bears
The scent of your caress.
A mother serves her sugar
A mother serves her sugar with
A bit of peppermint
To clarify the passages
That carry what she meant
When she first set to bear a soul
Quite separate from her own,
Whom she would cherish, yet must teach
To live and die alone.
A mother casts her dreams into the sea
A mother casts her dreams into the sea;
We, the words sent bobbing towards the sun,
The eggs of stone, the shards of prophesy.
Because she must conclude her melody
And fall back to the sweet dark hush of One,
A mother casts her dreams into the sea,
Hoping to cross that wild infinity
And on some infant shore again to run,
The eggs of stone, the shards of prophesy
Outside the fiery circle of memory,
The howling surf, the incessant years undone …
A mother casts her dreams into the sea
And then dissolves into a tapestry,
Her rolling, helpless drift again begun,
The eggs of stone, the shards of prophesy
Afloat once more upon eternity,
Once more the alien fury, never done …
Again, again, her dreams into the sea,
The eggs of stone, the shards of prophesy!
Poetry for Mothers Day
Although consumed by fury, you still loved us.
At least that is the knowledge of my heart.
Screaming like a child, you would beat us
Until you snapped, and then the tears would start.
“You know I love you,” you would cry, demanding
More of us through tears than with your fist.
And we, through tears, would nod our understanding,
Too bullied in our pain to dare resist.
Yet now that you’ve been dead for many years,
And I have wandered through my own vast hell,
I see the desperate anguish in your tears
And hope at last that I can love you well.
For only in my love can your love be
The love that once, I think, you had for me.