POSSESSIVE

When
I was
a child
Didn't understand
Why mother was
So possessive,
All the time
Instructive
In her behaviour
In her love.

She always thought us
Very careless,
Very naive,
As a child who needs
A finger to move.
She was every bit a care,
Had lots of affection
To share.

She bares her heart
And brings her mind out,
Whenever got angry,
She relentlessly soughts.
Her embrace was very tight,
For us she had taken
Many decisions-wrong or right.

Now I am
A grown-up man
Who do not care a bit
Nor do think her ways
Being always fit.

But my inner self
Makes me feel,
I ,too, am growing
A little aggressive,
A little possessive.

Perhaps,
This is the way
Our blood streams
And flow,
Flow like a River ripe,
Looking still,
As always be
A latent heat
Of Eternity.