Where do I start this poem, I don't know,
Now, my poetic juices can't flow,
When it comes to our mothers, we're all speechless,
Let's start from scratch and talk of her uniqueness.
She endured the pain, so a star she gained,
For a rainbow, you have to deal with the rain,
Her tears of joy, they fell on the skin,
Of the baby whose first cry creates a din.
Her baby means the world to her,
She'll sacrifice for their bright future,
She cares more for her child than any other soul,
Humanity's blessed, without her it's not whole.
More than the medicines and syrups we take,
It's her hugs and kisses that cure our ache,
Sometimes, she's the only one we need,
Our hurtful wounds, with her goodness she feeds.
Even if we wrap the stars and the sun,
In a blanket and give her, there's nothing to be stunned,
That gift, be it the priciest one,
Cannot thank her for all that she's done.
She is a silent hero, she doesn't need praise,
For her unstinting efforts that help her child raise,
The one dream she has that her heart speaks out loud,
Is to see her grown baby, making her proud.
Why one day out of three sixty-five?
She deserves more honour, due to her we're alive,
Curse those souls who give her distress,
Without her, our life is a tangled mess.
No one's like her, she's God's best creation,
To be more precise, she's His incarnation,
Hot tears fight for room in my eyes,
I'll love you Mom, till the bright moon dies.
Yours poetically,
The Literary Artisan 💖
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