Countable and Uncountable

There’s a thought for every thought
A word for every word…

There’s a song for New found love
A song for separation…

There’s a story behind each new story
There’s an end that ends every tale…

There are superlatives to describe all passion..
Bob Dylan to speak about the blues….

But the reason why I was born
Is unknown to me…
And loving the lady I am born from
Is infact a greater mystery…

I wonder what it must have felt like to held by her for the first time..
Somewhere deep within my nascent senses and my newly born perception and abilities…. I must have felt something……
When I was born, a mother, in her was born too.
I wonder how she felt
I wonder how it made her look that first instant..
For a young woman who took life as an adventure
Was I a much desired end or the new beginning..
Was she overwhelmed? Was she scared? Was she prepared?
Can you ever prepare yourself for the first glance of motherhood?
What was it, how was it…. I shall never know.

But that moment isn’t lost… perhaps its safer in obscurity..
Just some part of Maa and myself that I cannot reach….I cannot know…
And thus I cannot change…
Love you Maa hopefully just as much as u love me..

To Maa, who taught me not to sleep hind side up, lest I get bad dreams…
I never corrected that habit..She loved me never the less…..