The Eternal Bliss.

I like the kid in me saying they are MY mother’s hands

the possessiveness and the fact that I own her, is for what pride stands
but the unsaid unexpressed love somewhere deep in me
tells me what I am and what I should be.

Protected is what I feel inside when I say my MOTHER’S hands
Like a layer, umbrella, cover, roof, over me she expands
Keeping me safe from all vulnerable frays
And finds a way out each time I am in a difficult maze.

Suffering is what I see, when I see my mother’s HANDS

of the hustle of her profession and a family that commands

for the service that she offers, a quiet submission to life

I see immense strength and power in this ruffle and strife.

Twenty first birthday of my life, the first one with her being away,
a note that I received in her handwriting, took my strength away
for all that it said that she loves me and wants to see me soon
all I wanted was to run back to her and be fed with a spoon.

And I blame the things that are difficult to say aloud
But she should know why she is distinctively important than the crowd
is because I belong to her more than she is mine
and her hands on me, for me are my only lifeline.