Mother

A little word, yet tremendous in its hug,

Spreading over lifetimes, leaving a following.

Birth to death, its process unfurls,

A story of adoration, everlastingly it holds.

From the belly's support to delicate consideration,

In her glow, loads we share.

Annoyed her, yet she remained steadfast,

First expressed word, a cradle song's melody.

The mother's face is adorned with compassion; her grace encapsulates a world.

Bhuban bholano, her adoration significant,

In her torment, God's privileged position reverberates.

Illegal to hurt, her sacrosanct being,

A heavenly quintessence, everlastingly liberating.

In distress, she conceals her own trouble,

A torn chest, a quiet coercion.

Through each trouble, penance she winds around,

An embroidery of adoration that everlastingly laments.

Articulations implicit, an unemotional workmanship,

Esteem the recollections near your heart.

Indeed, even in death, her empathy wins,

A soul persevering, as the immortal story sails.

Always remember, in life's lively twirl,

The substance embodied in "Mother," a pearl.

Hold onto the phrase and allow it to linger; forget it and refrain from triggering your heart.

A lasting bond, the greatest on earth, as a tribute to the one who gave you life.

In this way, in life's excursion, boisterous or unheard,

Recollect the extent of that little word.

Mother, in your heart, allow her to remain, forbidden to forget in any circumstance.