Mother's Philosophy Poem by Showkat Ahmad Wani

My son don't get thee out and not to throw
The words of plague at brother-wild at road,
Thy cry is powerless to shake his mind,
His shout finds thee when thee cry at curve,
Thy cry; shake my feel; his shout, my heart,
Thee! Be at home to lift thy hands of pray,
Remorse before Him, as thy ship of dreams
Not wrecks with twister raised by intrigues deep
Of made-up enemy, ship is sunk by fruits
Of deeds of own act that sojourn fixed
In darkest room of darkest heart of thought.