Mothers are the cool shade in life,
Mothers are the only light in darkness,
Mothers are the blossom of spring,
Mothers are the ways of heaven,
Without a mother, would be no us,
Without a mother, we would be lost,
Mother’s are the cool shade in life,
Mother’s are the joy,
Satisfaction,
And peace in life!

By: Nida Mahmoed.

In the arms of your mother you blink into the sunshine.
And her eyes glisten with the love she never imagined.
You've been a long time coming, little one.
She has waited for you for decades,
A timeless twinkle in her smile.
And she has suffered.
So much.
But looking into your eyes
She knows it's been worth it.
You were worth her pain.
You are all the love she has ever felt.
And all the love she never knew she had.
You have completed her.
And you will never know how much you mean to her
And how much she prayed for you.
How much we all prayed for you.
But you will always know how loved you are.

Welcome to the world, little one.
You're going to love it.

Come dance with me,
Under the pale moonlight.
In the magical world,
Where I dream at night.

Come laugh with me,
Smile your beautiful smile.
Let's talk for hours,
Then stay for a while.

Come sit with me,
And grasp my hand.
I’ll take comfort from your touch,
While I struggle to understand.
Come lie with me,
Hold me in your embrace.
Till my eyes flutter open,
To find only empty space.

I am mother.
I am school lunches.

I am a relationship
I am an extension
I am an idea.

I am mother.
Nothing more
but everything, everything, everything.

I am a tissue
I am a breast
I am a pillow.

I am mother.
I am a voice
saying no.

I am crying
I am drinking
I am lost.

I am mother.
I am every minute in a day.

I am losing weight.
I am running late.
I am coming now.

I am mother.
I am yours.

I am waking cold
I am feeling old
I am trying.

I am mother.
I am guilt.

I am Eve
who birthed us all
remembered for one mistake.

I am mother.
Because I have forgotten
who I am.

Mum had been gone a couple of months, six I think… (An ordinary day. Feeling hollow but doing OK) …when I realized I could get rid of the sofa.

I thought it was ugly. She thought it was a bargain. A sofa’s not a keepsake and it was certainly no heirloom. I’d not inflict it on my kids. I got rid.

If I could’ve had her back then? I would’ve done. Even if it meant keeping the sofa.

Redecorated. Bought a new telly. Spent frivolous amounts of cash on scatter cushions. She disliked scatter cushions. I thought they were cosy.

My little boy drew on one of the cushions. On purpose. I was about to smack the back of his legs… (Mum would have. She smacked me when I was little) … but I stopped.

I never wanted to. I had known all along, somehow forgotten.

If I could’ve had her back then? I would’ve done. But she would not smack my children.

Mum had been gone a year… (Planting bulbs. Feeling conspicuous carrying a shovel ‘round the churchyard) …and I missed her .

It was as hot as the day she died. There was no breeze up on that hill. No cloud. Beautiful views stretched right out to the sea.

My little boy had grown. He helped carry water and dig holes. My baby was learning to walk. She wobbled on uneven turf between the headstones. I wanted Mum to see.

If I could’ve had her back then? I would’ve done. No question.


Mum had been gone three years… (Bulbs were doing OK. There was nothing left to plant that rabbits wouldn't nibble) …and I realized it was time to move on.

I kept the ghosts quiet while agents showed people round. The house sold. We moved away. A warm, terraced place in a small town by the sea. Dad died.

Mum has been gone eight years and I miss her.

Looking out from the Downs across cliff-top and sea, the churchyard seems nothing more than a soft-grey fleck on the green edge of town.

If I could bring her back now? Everything’s changed.

Ghosts exist. They sit in empty chairs and speak kettle-whistle. Wishing us well.

I miss my mother most
when I'm in her frenetic company.
Such an angry fragile woman
in the shadow of the mum
she used to be.
Lost and alone, wanting a way home,
one woman against the world
with no old friends
only fresh new foes.

She can identify every shifting lie
sitting scared with no escape
from a hundred shifty eyes.
Stalkers criticise every mistake
watching her practice looping moves
cornering her as if to prove
that we're all conspiring
each trying to rob her
when the screaming truth here
is that her fleeting thoughts
have already gone where
we can never walk
not even in our tears.