In white water lilies ;
Miniature specks of radiant light
Swim in clear water of minerals, nestled by honey brown soil of nourishing elements
Engulfed by inner petals of delicate but impenetrable comfort
Transported by wise ripples along a translucent rectangle
Eager to drop off the water-fall edge of the plane
To fall as rain and unto its chosen carrier
Of whom shall be called its mother
Waiting to start developing physically after the essence of the mother's choice is fused with her very own jewel
The essence belonging to whom it will call father.

12:57 am . Monday, 21st, August, 2017.

Her skin
Is the most beautiful astrometry
Of the universe
It calls to me
Calls to the howling wolves
In the great mountainous prairies
Calls to water
In the wind she breathes
Birdsong, she inhales
Giving life
Drinking from the skies
That fall like rain
To penetrate her soil
Her blood
Is the most ancient
Magma
Flowing
Inwards and outwards
Within and without
Her sacred core
None can violate
Her daring mists
Winding herself into a spiral
She sings the galaxy
Into existence

the  air-conditioned railjet takes me
with strangely whincing wheels
through winding tracks
along the mountains of my youth

clouds are hanging low
    after recent rainfalls
fog shrouds the forest hills
    in mystical silhouettes
rises slowly from the valleys
revealing an old castle here
     a younger hotel there

the next stop announces
     my birthplace
today's wet greenery passing by the window
makes me wonder what it was like
almost seventy years ago
     two years after the end of a war
     that destroyed many places on the globe
     and killed fifty million people
for my mother to give birth to the first
     of two sons
with a husband who
     at the age of 21
had just made his way
      not quite nine months before
escaping from a Soviet POW camp

     took him and a friend one month
     walking by night
          hiding by day
     through all of Poland
     to end up in a British field hospital
     from which they fled
           gratefully
     when they had regained some energy
     jumping trains from northern Germany
          to eastern Austria
     coming home just before Christmas

and as my hometown disappears in fog and rain
I hear the muted noises of the high-tech train
     now on a steady downhill track
musing how easy my own life has been
no wars, dictatorships, catastrophes

how we are born into a world
so different from our parents‘
raised by their words and values
to make our way

Is it true?
that our mother is dying with blue
making her weak without any clue
destroying her body until its due

Our mother is sleeping for generations
while we kill her softly with excitation's
inches of her body were destroyed by expansions
taking her for granted for our situations

Her long deciduous hair that gives life for us
suddenly gone missing for our lust
shaving it all is a must
not knowing for her kindness to us

Now we shall proudly say
that we viciously rape her everyday
making her look bad until we may
ending her life, so to us I shall say

Seema 3d

After the days work.
Putting away, old tales,
She starts a new one.
Patting me to sleep, good night,
Mothers are so beautiful.

©sim

Tanka
5-7-5-7-7 syllables
SDC 3d

Gentle and soft,
tonight our moon is crimson like a sigh.
can't she look so sweet
without us
Running our little feet
fresh across the ground?

Gentle Mother moon
She has a quality like you--
her skin is less placid, though.
Her hair covers galaxies
and creates creases where air once lived.

Like a fire, she becomes crescent, burnt,
an imminent star burst.
But, like most light, she likes to leave.

karma 4d

Where are you?
-I cant reach you.
-I can see you.
You're justt out of reach.
I had you,
Where did you go?
Why did you go?
Did I push you away?
Did you pull back?
You mustn't have,
otherwise you'd be here.
What have I done?
What did you do?
Reach out to me.
Our fingertips almost touch,
-you pull away.
Please mum,
I need you.

we all need our mum, sometimes we need her more than we realise

next tuesday you'll be in surgery
and i'll be at home collecting cuts from
folding a thousand paper cranes
and letting them nip my fingertips
with their tiny beaks and feathers.
poor me, my family.
they're dying.
you couldn't cry when your sister died,
and what about your mother?
you told me that you're still waiting
for them to come back from holiday.
i don't know if it'll ever hit you,
but it's going to crush me.
poor me, my family.
i can't even look them in the eyes
most of the time. how can i hope
to say goodbye, and mean it?

My head resting in her arms
On my forehead her palms
Transferring her love unconditionally
Her touch heals me magically
Eyes are the ocean of acceptance
Relaxing me just with her presence

First attempt on acrostic

"Mom?" I whisper, your bedroom door slowly creaks open
Pill bottles still clutter around your nightstand along with
Your blue journal with a family photo of us glued to the front page.
My mind manipulates me, toys with my vision; hallucinations
Your bedroom is now bleak, bitter, a cloud of sadness above it
You're favorite blanket is still sprawled out on your perfect bed,
untouched and cold.
I'm afraid to touch it 'cause it was your favorite thing in this world.. I creep over to your bed, "Mom?" I wait for answer.
My fingers touch the softness of your blanket, memories appear like an adrenaline rush and the sadness accelerates.
I fling it over myself. It still smells like you.
I lay in your bed, wrapped in your fleece blanket, shuddering.
"Mom?" I whimper.
I remimince the sounds of your soft and loving voice, calming me
"My baby girl", "I love you", "I'm sorry".
I peek my head out from my bundle of comfort.
Reaching for the framed picture on your nightstand
Healthy, happy, full of life.
Last time I saw you, your eyes were puffy, your face was pale, your voice barely passed as a whisper.

Now, I lay here helplessly,
A empty bottle of pills inside my bitter cold hands.
Mom, please take me home.

"Mom?" I call out in the midst of your room. Everything around me fading to black..

"Hey baby girl." She finally answers back.

Written for my acquaintance.
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