O True Friend! My hope of Hopes, Where art thou?
I have not been holding thee close,
Yet when time draws nearer to our meeting
This child hopes to be embraced in thy motherly hug.
Every lost moment causes the old man gasp and yet this little one seeks thy warm embrace.

Time flies by, the day is here.
And kitchen fires lit to feed thy big Family;
This child knows not how to welcome or do thy bidding
And these add to his anxiety.
He knows that the family is large and his Mother hath not so much time
And yet he wants to listen to her cajoling words.

Thy words hath been the very essence of all motivation
Those very words had grown as songs of inspiration
Even when he shied away, as thee had spoken to him
That very child took pride in announcing
Thy sense of conversation as his own achievement.

Thee hath taught him to live simple and expect nothing
The child remembers only that day; like the tasty desert of a royal feast.
He remembers that feeling but the taste and smell are long gone
As the day nears, Mother beloved, he wishes more.

All around are the floods of all pervading illusions.
Most drown in close waters and he takes notice.
They hope to swim across not knowing it will be endless
You showed him a canoe, so he may float to live;
The child dreams to build a ship but nothing, he has.
Way and again, he wants to jump into the seas, exaggerated that all can be done.
Mother beloved! he knows not that his very existence is thy gift.
From thy canoe, he talks like a ship’s captain
And yet he knows not to row.

You are like the fresh roses of spring, in all their enchanting colors.
Thy fragrance hath no equal and the jasmine bends down in shame
Yet this child seeks the lowly dolls of a common pedlar,
When the most precious gem had been garlanded by thee across his tender neck.

Bound by his own chains, this child lives now in the limited prison of worldly aspirations
He knoweth not what is invaluable and goes in search of daubles
May he not go astray, for he is yours forever
He is thy son, Mother lead him to thee.

Summers and winters pass by, Mother dear
Thy son waits and waits, not able to hear thy call
Blissful heaven art thee and to be at thy feet is the goal
This son fears thee might not heed his heart
while he shies away from thee not revealing his self

Thou art his biggest aspiration and thou art the only choice
When thy look falls upon the eyes, they wake up
Like the flowers opening up on bright spring day,
a smile spreads and the heart warms
When will this ignorant one feel that again?

Call him to be at thy feet, at thy bidding
Lest he may lose the most precious.
Life is beautiful, for it is thy gift
Pray, make it worthy and delay not
Mother beloved, thy son misses thee.

Shyam Diwakar