A poem for the woman we call mom. She is not just the mother.The essence of us,the female aura around us,the strength that defines humanity across centuries - a tribute to you.
A poem for the sleepless souls.
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Her eyes have lost sleep,
They are clouded with worry,
They call her mom,
I wonder what her name was before I came into being
People look at her differently
Dads look lingers for a while
he sighs and smiles,I see his eyes bow down sometimes to the woman who made his world
her parents are rather proud
Their gaze is full of admiration for the miracle before them
Her brother looks at her for strength and I can see the friendship in their eyes
the deeply rooted bond fostered through childhood and youth that lets unsaid words be said through eyes
Her sister is a version of her
I think she looks at her with ambition
You are beautiful and I am a bit of you
but I will be my own kind of beautiful,her eyes say
Her friends all come in different sizes,colors,shapes and types
Mom but they all see only you like you only see each of them when you are around
She is the woman ,not just the mother
I recognize
She is you and I and all the powers combined
In the silence of the night when her whispering lullabies around the world help us all sleep
I wonder what kind of gaze she remembers the most when she finally rests those eyes after a long day
--
Music: www.bensound.com"
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