What it Means to be a Mother ...

What it means to be a mother ...

There are not enough words to describe this queen,
she is more than a shoulder on which we lean.
In her nest she sits, while we take shelter under her wings,
and when the tiger shakes the tree, she softly sings.
She doesn't sing a warning, she doesn't show her fear,
she shows us everything is alright, because momma is so near.
She protects us fiercely like a swan on the lake,
and she would give up everything, just for our sake.
We are her children, she governs us with instinct,
and no one will trespass into her precinct.
A mother's love transgresses, it is distinct,
and even when she passes, it is all but extinct.


What it means to be a mother ...

She is there for any situational crisis,
preventing enzymes from taking us via lysis.
She's the one we look up to, because she has a cabinet of spices,
she's doesn't use riddles, like my metaphorical devices.
She gives freely, she doesn't believe in prices,
she advises us of the fate of six number dices.
She celebrates our moments, our cakes full of slices,
she dissipates the darkness that instigated our vices.
She knows how to give, and exceeds what suffices,
she exposes the cloaking of all that entices.
She soothingly applies ointment to the scars we may bear,
she makes it alright and lovingly strokes our hair.
She tells us stories so that we may have imaginations,
she feeds our dreams, to make real our aspirations.

What it means to be a mother ...

From her womb we came, mewling little babies,
created by emotions, crying "please save me".
A woman she is and that's not a question,
she is my mother, and that's a confession.
As her children, we are her obssession,
being a mother, is her fulltime profession.
9 months she bore us, she took on the pain,
and when we were in her arms, she didn't look at us in vain.
She smiled down at us, while we cried in this new air,
she kissed our cheeks and said "there, there."
When we outgrew her arms, she was still our asylum,
bearing our tears with the strength of a xylem.
When she takes care of us, she feels truly content,
and the corners of her lips begin an upward ascent.
The years trickle by, her age in descent,
but her love for her children, is hundred percent.
Her sacrifices invisible, don't know the extent,
"Mother", is a language that I can't hope to attempt.






What it means to be a mother ...