What have I done?

 What have I done? 

Of which my mother you are proud,

I am one of the billions,

I am none in the crowd.

Even if you are one of the billion,

Even if you are non in the crowd,

To me my son you are precious, 

To me my son you are life.

 

I count not success, 

As a prerequisite to my love,

Even if, you be a failure,

Even if, you may, have won. 

You were hewed out of me 

My love for you can't fail 

Even if, you may be a failure

Even if, you may have won

You are a part of my being 

I breathe the breath you breathe

Success, or failure my son 

Cant ever my love conceal

NOTE:-I was inspired to write this poem when I had met with an accident and my mother was taking me to the hospital.

In her eyes, I saw the love that is beyond compare. 

 Isaiah 49:15  Can a woman forget her nursing child or lack compassion for the son of her womb? Even if she could forget, I will not forget you! 16Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands; 

Mother's love, a poem by Reginold Ajay Jacob, India

None can fathom the love,

Of a mother and child,

Nor can it be measured,

Nor can it be described.

Yet a futile effort I employ,

To say her love is supreme,

Showing light to the sun,

Calling supreme, supreme.

Can you measure the sky,

No, you can't,

Her love is beyond compare,

Which we later understand.

Hands that rock the cradle,

Rule the throne for sure,

The throne of heart thy definitely rule,

Of this, I am very sure.

Reginald Ajay Jacob ©20/2/17