MOTHERS

They breastfed us, yes but we bit them. 

With their lips as an emblem,

They liberated our nostrils,

Of phlegms meandering like contrails.

A career woman she's now called,

Aid to man when his pocket stalled.

Beautifully keeps the house before going to work,

Yet at home we fail to praise her worth. 

So shall the real woman wake,

Early from bed and for her family, bake. 

And we still ask, "How arduous are house chores?

A mere sweeping and cleaning course.

Therefore a mother's grin:

Is mostly misconstrued.

Seldom depicting true bliss,

Other times, it's a rare solace,

In how much age her child accrued. 

Then she flashes back in time,

As if she never lost a dime,

While pruning her children,

Even though it hurt her spine.

The sacrifices she made,

Stooping so low as their maid,

Just to get them to fill their belly.

And yet, we think it's her biblical duty?

That's the mother's calling.

Of which not every woman can hear,

Some try due to the love they fall in,

But most of them don't bear.

To the single moms who never rested till our fees were fully paid, 

Upon whose chest our unknown dad's duty is laid.

Those who with hot water squeezed our skull,

Till the head was rounded and mull.

The many who chased us just to take our bath,

And the churchy ones who wake us early on the Sabbath.

WE SAY, HAPPY SMOTHERS' DAY.

GOD BLESS YOU ALL.