SOME TEARS FOR THESE MOTHERS EVERYDAY

The mother's despair rises psychotic 
Her head exlodes the ground, chest she tears at

Among scatter'd pieces of son's mortals...
She stands, she runs, she begs, then falls...
She writhes in pains, sits up, and rends the air
With heart-bursting cries, and decries
Cursing the killer's mother heavenwards,
'Is this which you bore your son for?'
To which replies, owefully, the other mother,

'Do curse me, do kill me, O mother, 

For giving birth to an agent of terror!
I know not yet how I was robbed of son
From my bosom, from my lactating urn
To grow on poison of execration,
Hatred, violence, with guns for 'fun',
Among innocent, frail other toddlers
Stolen from unfortunate other mothers,
And grow them to murder, and run amok
From dusk to dawn, and dawn to dusk...

But I know my son will never return
From the Azrael's blade of execution
To see this decrepit mother dying, rotting,
unattended, all alone...
By quirks of fate you, O mother, got your son
Enshrined in the true path of martyrdom,
But I lost mine to grow as a demon,
And for the barbarity of my son,
I wish my head be blown off my shoulder!!
But have your divine mercy, O mother,
To grant my wish to hug and suckle each grain
Of your Martyr's remains to grow, sustain
Thousands of heroes--champions like your son--
To annihilate the sinners like my son,
And rid the Earth of the vandals of religion...'

Then hears the killer's mother a pitiful cry
Of silence as the martyr's mother lie still 

The coffer of her son in her tight embrace,
The whole infernal pain sets on her face,
Then sinks she into her son's relics of heroics
'Gainst the Satans' evils and barbarics ...

                                                  -- N P Samal