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Our Mothers
Our mothers saw and witness the life,
Different than any other mothers around the world.
Them eyes are like a daily raining cloud, crying
all day to see them passing on a deeper level of sedans.
Where tears rolls on the cheek like a burning
Candle, lighting in front of her kids graves who they did awhile ago.
You never know if she's whispering to them. Blaming
them of why they went away without saying a word to her.
Days are running so quickly and still she's watching
and talking to the photos of old memories that she missed.
Mother's Day comes and they are throwing
Flowers of happiness to the king of death to take them souls away.
Or in the holidays they would rather be fasting.
Hoping to break their fast when their husbands back from war.
Trust me our mothers never went to poetic school,
But them white heart is so sorrowing that made them a great poet.
They drink the saddens daily like a Russian vodka,
and smoking the pain like a fake Cuban cigar that sells with no cost.
I always wished if I could drink all of them tears away,
From them saddens and exchange with my happy tears and a happy life.
(Happy Mothers Day)
