Crossroads in a Labyrinth : A Mother's Love
I know it may be a little late to talk of Mother's Day. This is my view of the extremes a mother's love extends to; sometimes, a cause for her own grief.
Lackeys lost in vestiges dark,
Skimming heavens in hope so lush,
The lark, nomadic, scours in rush
Sight of abode away, a landmark,
Beside which the gem of her chest,
Her child, naïve, peacefully rests.
Unheard, the azure lager aspires,
In vain to voice, to lampoon.
Her path uncrossed, her eyes as pyres
Hauntingly search that haven cocoon.
Undeterred, she snarls at hurdles seen
Who sway in joy, blocking way bunched keen.
A fallen swallow beckons in plight
Her eyes wet for mother’s kiss and feed
Nomad pauses, hurry low in flight,
Evil falcon she spies take her lead.
The bloody chunk his beak pierces harsh,
The twin wing of weakling down the marsh.
The hunter swiftly turns the oak
Her baby in sleep unknowingly smiles
Her mother came and did lull awoke
Yet humble prey, she, complies
To serve the omen now stalking the nest
The child, trembling, would be a conquest.
The lark with the swallow did hear a squeal
Echoing in the darkness around
Her child, she knew, was lost to feel
The pain, misery by the winged hound
Her eyes shone in tears unshed,
The swallow to shade she then led.