With bruise n burns we arrive,
stretching our hands in despair,
Our eyes sore by wrong views and vision.
Tongues twisted by distastes.
What we hear is curse and swire.
We utter words of fire and filth.

But, mother by one compassionate hug,
You consecrate us; melting each one,
into a fine piece of your grace.
You give something for all,
in exchange of our sorrow.

Unaware, we delve deep in your tranquil.
living only THAT moment of life in your hug.
Go back again with a gift you bestow.
carrying a bit of your heart.
a smile from your sweetest smiles
a syllable from your tongue.
a bit of your loving concern,
a little of your thoughts.

Some of your playful acts n’ jokes too we take home
Yes we dream you in our dreams.
Until next time we meet; with a complaint!
Until then let me remain a spec in your magnanimity?

— SATHEESAN RANGORATH