After nine months of patience and thrive
She was calmed by his first cry
Seeing him blush would make her day
She loved him like a Potter loves Clay

To make him able she turned the clocks
Poured her love in his tiffin box
Sacrificed her nights to save his dreams
For his every scar she acted like cream.

When wet by stress she showed him hope
When days were hard she taught to cope
Made him a man which she wanted to
To divide her pains to vanish the blues.

Today she finds herself in a dark space
With many like her lost and helpless
Waiting for her son shivering alone
In a place which they call an old age home.