From the depths of her being
There gushes a mighty river
From a source well hidden within
the crucible of her spirituality.
She a giver;
Created just like the one who touts a ‘third leg’
The lot fell to her to become the ferryman of the little extra
required to spawn champions.
Her voice is a song
Her scoldings, ever so painful to bear at first,
Enshrine in us, character and values that birth tomorrow’s laurels
Her bosom is a fortress more secure than that fort
where gold is held captive in Barack’s country.
Her laughter gladdens the day
Even nature is discomfited at her pain and discomfort.
Has mother ever pulled you ear?
Has your backside ever felt the wrath of her slipper?
Have the unspoken words of her eyes ever chilled your bones?
Indeed we all have a tale to tell of mother at her punitive best
Yet, how quickly mother-inflicted sorrow disappears in her cuddle
How eager we are to hear her call us her pride and joy
She names her own with meaning
She raises her own with purpose
She models to her own the nobility in selflessness
Left to her, the one that has sucked at her paps
will not be bested in the field and in enterprise
The sacrifice of her essence simply will not allow it.
Father may be the foundation
Mother is the mortar,
Without which the bricks of society and nations are not held fast
I see her place now so clearly;
The Creator has given her the noblest of roles
She shall be a co-refiner; her heart and hands will mold destinies
As I face my sojourn on earth
Contending with the obstacles that litter my path
To becoming mother’s little one now grown
I remember the beneficial things for which I am grateful
That have given me strength from yesteryear
The blessings of my mother.