Born like countless, countlessly over and again
While most today glorify the possibility
Unlike yesteryears when it meant a chance
When the sun hit noon that fateful day
She had cooked and cleaned and fed the many
And in her room she bore mom
Only to rest a while and carry on all over again
By the sum of her actions she is flawed
She remains my symbol of resilience
Mired in helplessness and hopelessness
She still taught mom to teach me to walk
Unlike most I know, Mom has never glorified
Of being a mom, or how her biology is great
She taught me to value a fallen leaf
That shall feed the seed to spring new greens
An estranged devaki of sorts
Ammamma was Yashoda
Yet I am no Krishna, nor a shade of him
Yet they stood like mountains,
Steeling my resolve, easing my pain
Taught me to teach, taught me to see
Kept me alive, kept me sane
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