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Memories of this lady never leave my mind.
she wasn't a rider, but acted better than one,
riding high above many hurdles in life...fear
never took her away from her responsibilities...

when the fuse in the main switch gave
way, and dimmed the old house, this lady
braved the dark...armed with a flashlight
and pliers, she replaced the burnt fuse with
a new one and brought light back.....each
time the old-fashioned flat iron overheated,
she easily replaced the glass-like insulator  
inside, so it could right away be used again...

whatever needed repair---garment, tools,
the fence, the house...ripped, or with holes,
she mended and patched...even blind-hemmed
a torn relationship once...yes, she mended
cracks...was always in the midst of broken
vases, gluing pieces back together, so she
may put water and lovely flowers in it...

nothing was impossible for this gentle lady...
she moved mountains for her loved ones,
always persevering and ingenious, life
became less difficult...she painted their
young minds with a mix of hues,
so they may appreciate and be
grateful for rainbows and yellow sunrises,
learn to accept black, gray, unhappy moments,
and be thrilled by fiery orange sunsets....

this lady is indispensable...and irreplaceable,
SHE, and others like her, are called mama,
muter, mom, mum, majka, inay/nanay, mae,
matka, madre, mom....ahh, the list is long...


Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May, 8, 2020
(SHE... was our late mama.)

K Balachandran Nov 2017
languorous breeze,close to chest carries
a scent,an invitation on the waves of air,

the valley blooms lustily in response,
sends away fragrance with different notes.

the mix and blend to regale olfactory sense
of every visitor,as it pleases them,so much,

The medley of fragrance sends the breeze,
sweeping to an ecstatic height, never expected,

like a village weaver who loves warps and wefts
of many hues, he spins and weaves  fragrances,

to exhilarate all,near and far,any one who
deeply inhales the mix of fragrance,feels alive.
to the core,it's fuel to the wick, that enlightens the soul.
MindsPalace May 2016
I ate an apple.
It tasted like an orange.
Isn't my rhyming great?
It's pretty
I think.

— The End —