Mothership at the Mother-Ship
Dimly lit, yet
Comfy candles
Have lit the path
To her fiery cradle.
The light that
Explains why
Some tunnels
Were always meant to be dark,
The fleeting glimpse
Of a glorious time when
All the roads
Won’t lead to Rome.
She lives to breathe
Life into dreams,
The mother is my ship,
The ship is my home.
Sailors who’ve tamed
Yon Monsters of sea,
And never dared to plea
For a moment alone,
Will find the magic
That merits pregnant thought,
Turns mirrors alive,
And sets fire to stone.
She lives to breathe
Life into dreams,
The mother is my ship,
The ship is my home.
P.S. In 1782 AD, Chamaraj Wodeyar X (The 10th), Maharaja of the erstwhile Mysore state, granted 3,900 acres of pristine land to the dreams of a certain David Emmanuel Starkenburgh White, founder of the European and Anglo Indian Association. Two hundred and 42 years later, that parcel of land is playing both mother & embryo to the limitless dreams of world-builders.
Dedicated in equal parts, to mother, and Whitefield.
