40|| a story or a reality?

Fortunate are those, who have a mother. 

Maa, Mumma, Ammi.

The strongest of the women, carrying love as her fragrance, warmth on her lap, happiness in her palm. Holding us as the most beautiful human ever existing on the planet. Holding the thread of us in her hands, the same which had sewed our torn clothes. And maybe our broken hearts, our fallen confidence, and even our happiness.

Care reflecting in her harsh voice, hurt flashing in her eye which once had shine with anger, for raising her rough palm on us. The hands which cups our face, holding lines of cuts, holding lines of pain, but can she ever feel pain for herself. If only she gets time from worrying about us.