The world that you ushered me in,
Is impeccably amazing,
Yet I could not show you.
The love that you shower upon me
Is literally dimensionless
Yet I could feel it.
The light that you illuminate on my mundane life,
Is visibly unflinching,
Yet I could not reflect it.
The lens with which you showed me the world,
Is feasibly clear,
Yet I could not magnify it for you.
The legs that would swagger for miles,
Is physically feeble,
Yet I could not provide a settee for it.
The hands that worked for decades,
Is structurally emaciated,
Yet I could not provide a lap for it to rest upon.
The life that you endure with the pain inflicted,
Is morally unthinkable,
Yet I could not relieve you of it.
The merits of endurance that you have accumulated,
Is numerically countless,
Yet the rewards were of absolute contradiction.
The seldom uttered words of yours,
Is nothing but soothing,
Yet responses were snarls of rage.
Nevertheless, my beloved mother, you are audacious enough
To stroll on the path of thorns,
And patient enough to wait for my arrival,
Who would eradicate the agony of your unrequited love.