My hands tremble
My brush wobble
Make my painting acceptable
In your acceptance, O Mother
‘am not able to carve
in dreams too
The essence of your untainted love
I knew about your “soul” whereabout
Only when I saw
Your freshly carved portrait, flashing
On the walls of “Devakula”
But you are eternal; deathless
O my Mother
How could I paint you
With my broken stroke
My hands tremble
My brush wobble
O my lovely Mother!
……..
Devakula = A temple; cf. ācāryakula, a gallery of portrait statues of deified or semi- deified ancestors.
a passionate address to mother, nicely done.
So much thanks dear Abu Siddik Sir. Regards.
A heartfelt,profound,and deeply moving piece of writing.
So much thanks dear Sir Vijay Nair Jee!
Starts with epic tradition, ethereal tribute!
So much thanks dear Sir Jagdish Singh Jee!