The mother plate’s daughter’s hair,
Tying her love in the curves,
Over the windy stretches her finger slides,
Assuring her daughter to look at her in smile or tear.
In office her fingers strolls at keyboard,
And she continually works for progress,
In kitchen she does maximum share,
As her fingers linger over debris of food.
She gives art its essence,
As her finger fluxes over her masterpiece,
And her finger paces freely,
While dusting the windowsill.
Her love is essential,
The affection she has,
To whole world she teaches,
That love can be so unconditional.
-Manika Jain
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