Its cradle is a pile of garbage and shelter from the leaves of a tree above.
From the garbage pit arises loud screams of the little one cry,
The humming sound made by a swarm of houseflies is its lullaby.
As a wandering stray dog removes the cotton, sniffs and licks the bleeding umbilical cord,
The umbilical cord turns out to be the child’s address that the world welcomes aboard.
A street sweeper lady notices the little one as she dumps the garbage from her bin,
She adopts the babe, gives him a name, admits him to a school and raises him through thick and thin.
She ameliorates the child’s life by dreaming good things for him while he slept,
She nurtures him well and witnesses him bear a child with tears of joy she wept.
With the satisfaction of completing her obligations she closes her eyes and breathes her last,
For him, his mother was his temple and her everlasting love was his caste.
It has been said that there is no better temple than a mother and no better guiding principles than those of a father,
The loss of his mother hardens his heart and now becomes a tree whose leaves begin to wither.
A mother’s love he earned while he lived amongst certain cruel beings on earth,
For he continues to worship the street sweeper lady who found him in his garbage berth.
One of the temples (mother) who gave birth to him, now lives in a ‘Home for the aged’,
She survives with her son living abroad who sends her monthly a grandiose maintenance aid.
For the fact is that after completing her life’s duties, in her own feces she remains,
For all the arrogance, illusion and bad deeds she has done the appropriate destiny she attains.
If this is known to the street sweeper lady’s son, he would rush to worship this mother,
For, in the temple he was brought up the manners differ from the other.
Living in a commensurate family where the mind’s vision is narrowed and humanity doesn’t prevail,
Where the thoughts to love only the immediate family comprising of father, mother and a child is trapped in a triangular jail.
This is dissimilar to the thinking of the street sweeper lady, whose vision is invariably broad with a heart of gold,
For good souls like hers, the world is their family and her love has no threshold.
Although she was infertile to deliver a baby, she became a mother at heart feeding her babe and narrating stories about the moon,
In contradiction to the brothers living abroad who sent their mothers to old age homes and became infertile at heart but lived a long life acquiring the 16 boons.
Children, respect thy mother, for she is a temple you need to worship every day,
Parents, never leave thy kids, for there is a mother to raise your kid you left astray.
Never admit your parents to an old age home, for they sacrificed their lives in your growth,
Be thankful that you weren’t admitted to an orphanage or laying in a garbage berth.
You cannot see God, but amongst the hearts of the sweeper lady, God is always seen,
A handful of people like the sweeper lady exist among the cruel human beings.
