It's a Mom's Thing

Cooing, cuddling, cajoling, commanding...

A mother's modus operandi changes, but her love for her child does not. At a subterranean level, her child continues to be in her womb, even with long limbs that can't fit in her embrace. Her enduring love, juxtapositioned against the changing ripples and tides of time as the child grows, presents a complicated predicament- hold on or let go. Eventually, she knows her destiny; however, she cannot deny that she feels betrayed, not by her child but by what she believed in when she held him for the first time- he will forever be mine. Torn between the autonomy that the child craves and the many small and big separations that result as a consequence, makes her sometimes feel abandoned, remorseful, and lost. The poem is about that moment in a mother's life and can almost sound like an elegy to what once was. The usage of words like cyclone, to some readers, may appear hyperbolic, but to her, the absence of a miniature motion of love is nothing less than a conflagration, and as a mom, you are more inclined to empathize than complain.

"It's a regular birthday on a regular day,
the regular sun's on its way.
In silence, the cottony cirruses float,
the chipmunk's hopin' in its striped coat.
It's never been a confetti affair,
or friends playin' musical chairs.
No gifts wrapped in golden bows,
Or candles on the cake to blow.
Yet, over the years, the day meant so much to me,
He's stayed by my side–like a guarantee.
His cursive words on the handmade card,
Golden glittered, silver starred.
A piece of triple chocolate mousse cake,
a happy birthday song, the sweetest he could make.
That's how lilies festooned my heart,
that's how all love stories start.
And then, the year he turned eleven,
a crack emerged in my small heaven.
I plummeted, pinin' for his golden touch,
wonderin' how life could change so much.
The handmade card couldn't be found,
the birthday wishes arrived without a sound.
His friends and soccer, and he'd grown,
I couldn't shield my womb– from the cyclone.
I foresaw a day when change would hum,
yet now, I'm bitter, lost, and numb.
Why does growin' up feel so unfair,
and in this world, must I learn to share?"


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