Black is the colour of our Mother’s Hair.
Her face is something wondrous fair
The brightest eyes and the bravest hands
We love the ground on which She stands.
Her hair is darker than the night.
Her face doth make the moon less bright.
The most ancient light dwells in Her eyes.
Her mouth is true and young and wise.
Her hands are strong yet soft as snow.
They lifted mountains long ago.
They brought the Earth out from the sea.
Now they are raising you and me.
The grace that flows from Her Lotus Feet
Is like a nectar, pure and sweet.
No power on Earth or in Heaven above
Is greater than Our Mother’s love.
This poem came to me on India tour in 1981 and as you can see the first verse is based on an old folk song. So it is not really poetry.
