The Beautiful Storm

By Neha Singh

The soft whisper from the heaven,

touched the surface of my heart.

Go hold her hand, she is your mom.

The girl in me is a colour of loneliness,

But you became my little happiness,

You held me in arms,

Embraced me like you always did,

The most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

Smile as fresh as morning dew,

Relentless in her pursuit to be whole and to be free.

You scolded me because that's only way to raise, You taught me to fight to have my own place. You advised to be wise; all you did for me is sacrifice, to be with me and to see me at height.

She is mine, the beautiful storm, wider and stronger, she is my mother.

By Neha Singh