The Spark

                                     

                     

There has always been an almost sublime fascination with motherhood in life -  

- a strange reverence arising from the question - from where and how does life happen?

What is the source from where it comes - this spark? That changes dormant tissue into a vibrant, howling, kicking bundle of life. 
The methods are replicated but the final answer still remains elusive.

And within the halo of a mother we sense a selflessness and boundless caring that embraces all that is alive......     

    

                                

                                 

             A Birthing  

                         -   in the monsoons

It came

A whisper in the wind

A caress and a gentle kiss

On the cheeks,

Carrying a promise.

Cool, tantalizing,

Generating an eagerness in the thought

That the searing summer

Was coming to a close.

Mother

During those months

Nurturing her trees, fruit-bearing;

Letting them ripen

To grow sweet

And come to their full term.

Parched herself,

Yet content.

Opening herself

Under the rain-bearing clouds

To quench herself

Of a thirst

Many months old.

The earthy aroma 

Of a mother's thirst quenched,

Combined with gossamer spray

Wafted by the wind in frolic,

Pleasing, invigorating, rejuvenating;

Invoking

Beauty and joy, 

A bridge to the beauty and joy

Of another universal birth

Unbounded by barriers and boundaries

If we let it

Be so. 

It was not only a new child

Which birthed;

For 

With each birth

All mothers too are born anew

In all existence, around.

                                              Such moments of creation

                                              Cradled in love,

                                               Lie enshrined in our lives -

                                                                        The core, the essence

                                                                         Of what we are.