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Poems On / About MOTHER  7/26/2016 10:41:57 PM
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  37.     

A mother ????

There is nothing sublime In our existence More than the word mother Because it means Too much Anytime, anywhere, and everywhere, A mother is the house's head, She's the school's mother, She's the warmth's mother, She's the giving, and She's whose heavens are under her feet... Who is to be compared with a mother? She is the maternity, She is the affection, She is the spirit, She is the time and the place, and She is the feelings and the emotions... Out of her school, The greatest peoples are graduating, She raises the best people, Her food is unmatched, and She is the pure fountain of maternity That never runs out... There is no place for the world Without her... The world is the mother herself and Without her, then There is no world... She is the truest and the clearest truth Every time and everywhere. _____________________________________________
 
MOHAMMAD SKATI

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  38.     

A mother ????

There is nothing sublime In our existence More than the word mother Because it means Too much Anytime, anywhere, and everywhere, A mother is the house's head, She's the school's mother, She's the warmth's mother, She's the giving, and She's whose heavens are under her feet... Who is to be compared with a mother? She is the maternity, She is the affection, She is the spirit, She is the time and the place, and She is the feelings and the emotions... Out of her school, The greatest peoples are graduating, She raises the best people, Her food is unmatched, and She is the pure fountain of maternity That never runs out... There is no place for the world Without her... The world is the mother herself and Without her, then There is no world... She is the truest and the clearest truth Every time and everywhere. _____________________________________________
 
MOHAMMAD SKATI

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  39.     

A mother ????

There is nothing sublime In our existence More than the word mother Because it means Too much Anytime, anywhere, and everywhere, A mother is the house's head, She's the school's mother, She's the warmth's mother, She's the giving, and She's whose heavens are under her feet... Who is to be compared with a mother? She is the maternity, She is the affection, She is the spirit, She is the time and the place, and She is the feelings and the emotions... Out of her school, The greatest peoples are graduating, She raises the best people, Her food is unmatched, and She is the pure fountain of maternity That never runs out... There is no place for the world Without her... The world is the mother herself and Without her, then There is no world... She is the truest and the clearest truth Every time and everywhere. _____________________________________________
 
MOHAMMAD SKATI

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  40.     

If I Ever Live Again

Mother, father... you both relished the words of a soothsayer who grandly described me as the fave and mirror, and my reflection be kept safe, lest the devil's eyes pierce through. Being signs of comfort engendered by destiny, labour pains eluded you mother, forfending a difficult womb to carry me during and after gestation. My arrival comforted you. Father pecked you on the cheek graciously and said the light has come to shine, and you both released a sigh of relief. No sooner had a month added a day to my earthly sojourn than I lapsed into serious illness. The soothsayer's voice was raised again like a largo riddled with lamentation: You have fain named Ifa a liar for you have blown the child's birth even too loud. Your joy should flow inwards into your own soul. The devil's eyes have pierced through the mirror. You have mixed your salt with soil. You have taken stones for silver and gold. Thus, without more ado, let echt bean cakes be prepared for children of underage; kola nuts, salt, palm oil and a mother goat all put together and be sacrificed to appease the angry gods. The sacrifice would have come to pass had I not breathed my last breath early enough. Mother wailing, weeping, lamenting, and father in his own anguish appealing for calm, patting mother consolingly. They have laid me down and buried me in white cloth, and with all the sacrificial demands as though to guarantee immediate resurrection. Now here in my beautiful silent grave, I have entered fully into their pathos, praying, seeking divine remediation... Lord, make me the rain to wash away mother's tears. Make me the strength on father's shoulders to carry mother high and bear me again. And if I ever live again, make me an unending comfort and healing to their souls.
 
Tunji Ibrahim

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