A PRAYER TO MOTHER

PROF. D. R. BENDRE

Once you were, but dare I say that now you ceased to be?

I am if you are, if not I am not, thus I console me.

In you conceived, in you I grow and be in you consumed.

The unlit wick must bend to the flame, would it get relumed.

You cast my frame in your own frame, out of your own blood.

You led my mouth to your bosom’s wealth; you made yourself my food.

You toiled for me, you made me toil, -my feet may learn to walk

You kissed my mouth and there imprinted your own limpid talk.

I am a bee illusion-fed, to you all the world lies clear.

You rubbed the Shami sticks of doubt, a blazing fire to rear.

I lack control, O self-possessed, come, soak me in your grace:

Make me your tool, Maker of the All, use me hard, erase.

You are the star, I’m your planet, your womb once spilt me out.

My natal swoon is not done yet; I still revolve about.

You will not let me slip your hand in this shoreless sky.

You’ve put me to your chariot’s yoke, and still traverse on high.

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