Treasure Island

Anita Sehgal

(Delhi)

A Mother's Song


Oh! my Darling Baby,
Where have you come from?
........................
........................
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  • Vivek Tiwari (8/12/2013 8:24:00 PM)

    The beginning tone of the poem reminds me of Sarojini Naidu but according to the serious change of thought the tone changes to the description of motherly affection where mother's loving and affectionate devotion for child is dearly expressed. (Report) Reply

  • Yasmeen Khan (6/16/2013 9:08:00 AM)

    For a mother the child is the purest gift of Nature sent to her from Heaven and the joy and bliss you celebrate here is shared by all mothers. I loved the line: 'I wonder if you carry the memories of lives goneby? '
    (I'm grateful ma'am for reading my poem and kind comments) (Report) Reply

  • Ramesh Rai (6/16/2013 3:06:00 AM)

    nice n beautiful song. i remember that story. the belover asked to bnring to the heart of mother so he did. while carrying the heart of his mother he stmbled with a stone m fell down. the heart cried son did u get injury. like to share it (Report) Reply

  • Payal Parande (6/15/2013 2:57:00 AM)

    Mothers are fonder than fathers of their children because they are more certain they are their own.
    Aristotle
    i love my mother....and after reading your piece, ma'am i think i love her more than ever so thank you (Report) Reply

  • Shahzia Batool (4/24/2013 12:26:00 AM)

    So Pure! ! ! Anita ji, beautiful images are set...a poem about a universal relation with mom being a heavenly character...i would like to share my favorite poem here:

    Morning Song

    by Sylvia Plath



    Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
    The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
    Took its place among the elements.

    Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
    In a drafty museum, your nakedness
    Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.

    I'm no more your mother
    Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow
    Effacement at the wind's hand.

    All night your moth-breath
    Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
    A far sea moves in my ear.

    One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
    In my Victorian nightgown.
    Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square

    Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
    Your handful of notes;
    The clear vowels rise like balloons. (Report) Reply

  • Om Chawla (4/13/2013 10:34:00 AM)

    Such a sublime thought and so very wonderfully expressed. Truly admirable.
    True a mother also can only try to 'insulate.....from frowns of life' as interplay of Mayavi forces ultimately takes control of man's destiny when only HE can guide.
    Thought provoking and with a great insight. (Report) Reply

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