You often spoke of frameworks as guiding principles at all phases of life.
You spoke of structures, you spoke of lines..

Lines that when crossed with mischief, called for admonishment.
Lines you drew on our exercise books to ensure homework was complete.
Lines you made so clear guarding your babies from outside harm.
Lines that parallel the lives of all mothers.

Today as I look at you, I see those lines etched deep in tireless perseverance; a reminder of your experiences.
Those lines as you age ever so gracefully, are exactly what makes you all the more so beautiful.

Your tresses are not smooth and silky
Lady..you have got grey hair!!
Your skin is breaking
There are lines on your forehead.
Why you are so skinny?
Don't you eat well...


You don't seem pristine,
Just look at your ravishing friend.

Yes...i do agree to the above delineation
But ...you don't know many facts.

That I was wide-awake uncountable nights
for my little ones,
Be it the school project or making that perfect attire for my princess's fancy dress
Or those sleepless nights with ear ache , fever or growing pains.

I have sometimes heard you talking about me from behind.
But have that golden heart to come and know my plight....
I would share with you the story of my pale visage
As  I have always loved my family more before self.

Ageing is a natural phenomena
Come to me I will guide you
Know that those lines and silver strands are signs of my eternal beauty,
But I can't blame your ignorance,as it is known by few.

Bina Mukherjee

Lost what does not exist
maybe myself, alone
between nothing, no before, no after

Just my sweetheart, and the thought
that he may be enough, but
how, however sweet

he is, not a father
showing my happiness
to my mother

who died prematurely, or not
now this won't happen –
a future lost

to another future
that I am sadly afraid of
at most, it can drown

in sorrow for the sorrow
that drowns me, lost
in the flow of time

Childless
by Michael R. Burch

How can she bear her grief?
Mightier than Atlas, she shoulders the weight
Of one fallen star.

Keywords/Tags: mother, mothers, motherhood, child, childless, death, grief, weight, burden, Atlas, epigram, epitaph, elegy, eulogy, lament

Golden Strands
of hair glisten
like honey

Soft, solace scent
of an old home

Goose feather pillows
Blue veins disguised
inside cautious hands

Embrace me, radiate warmth
And with the utmost careful placement
of glasses on her nightstand

once again.

I have never
borne a child.

But there is
a part of me
that craves
the catharsis
of seeing something
so delicate
and pure
and so much
a part of myself
come from within,
from a place
of love.

Some days
I wonder
how I could have
ever been trusted
to bring up
something so good
(in humility)
with so much beauty
(in modesty)

every moment
it begs
for truth--
how could I not
give this little one
my name?

Other days
the roles are reversed
and suddenly it is
my fears that
are comforted
my tears that
are dried
my passion,
confusion,
or other outburst
borne with grace
on the page--
in these moments
the begetter
is held together.

No,
my children are not
flesh and bone
but rather
heart and soul

and my job
is to prepare them
to go out
and change
the world.

An evil mother, with grey hair
Flaunts her red gown
Desiring, her selfish,
wild daughters
to get royally crowned

After a painful death
Her real hidden face
Once cunningly cloaked
Is finally invoked!
She was a sugar coated pill!

Soon the dishes and the laundry
The sweeping of floors
Are forever those
stepdaughter's daily chores

The clever lady, never gaiety
gets the royal call
She plans devilish things
Locking Cindrella down
Wildly tearing and ruining
Her charming ball gown

In the end, she's left cursing
the perfectly fitting shoe
She deserved that
Old cruel shrew!

But why is it always
The step ones forever cruel?
Why O why? Is such a mother shown?
What would a child feel
Who has a mother, step
Even, if she isn't mean or vain
The child will think, she's Lady Tremaine!