Gradually her voice becomes louder and louder.
With the sun she leaves her bed, a voice too feeble,
With the moon she dances with the stars she twinkles
Let her lie on her ancient green bed, her pen is credible,
She is a poetess let her think for us something better,
To stand before the hot sun she is bold enough and capable.
Look at her courage she is still orbiting round the sun,
Look at her efforts still rotating on its old and stale axis
Soon the heat strokes will die and clouds will take off,
Soon her sons will come out from a deadly crisis.
A walk in flowers and the nature will throw its gun,
An unconditional surrender by the unkind Nemesis,
I see an old couple in a green ground and playing golf,
A life with no lock downs, I trust in a motherly bliss!
My great mother will write a new poem of love,
I shall listen to once again the twittering of a dove.