What Do You See?

It took only lines of six

Neither circle nor ellipse,

I had nary a clue,

the shape I just drew.

Filling it with ink,

I suddenly could think.

Soaking paper that mark,

an invite from Rorschach.

She emerged as only she could .

Stately, proud she stood,

Enrobed in compassion.

I couldn’t look with dispassion.

Persona of the Mother

just isn't like any other.

Yet,

there come others

out of ink amorphous.

Out of single corpus

Mothers, Mothers, Mothers,

letting time,

space,

and distance

simply Co-merge.

Ma, Maman, Mutter, or Mater..

Look everywhere, it’s Mother.

They share the same glory

That mother-child love story.

And yet,

This fierce, proud mother

sings a fevered lullaby

That prince her son,

has no inkling nor notion

about the conversation.

“Son, Stun, GUN ,RUN!!”

If mothers by any name,

are one and the same,

why should another

then have much to fear?

Boxing the color prism,

brings forth inhumanity

in a world of polarity.

Why confound vision

sowing seeds of division

that rupture and schism?

A walk in her shoes

would be of great use.

A world so myopic

her son a statistic!

If one can a blob personify,

there's no room for confusion

Oh! What have we wrought

simply standing-by?

A clear unjust situation,

or inconvenient vexation?

A blot of compassion with ink

or a blot on compassion, just think!

If we saw humanity like a mother,

we'd finally see each other.