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I cannot not remember my mother,
whatever time...whatever day,
during work or while viewing sunsets
while relaxing...or while too stressed,
her face...smiling or wearing a frown,
or a tune of a song she used to sing,
all these hover over everything
around me, they dangle like tassels
of memories,
they make me recall more.

I cannot not remember the scents
of flowers in my mother's garden
that she used to grow and love,
for they all still exist  in my garden,
dishes she used to cook for us,
I now cook for my own family.

When a breeze brushes over me,
i cannot not remember, how in the
early mornings of her life, my mother
had rushed to the church, to hear
mass...to serve God 'til the last days
of her life...she did, in every way.

I cannot not remember my own mother,
for i saw in her how to be a mother
and a grandmother
with love, extreme effort and care.


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 24, 2024
...was reading some works by Rabindranath Tagore,
and I ended up with this poem...
My mother is a very sweet person
Someone who cares
She is a very neat person
Someone that is there
She is the one I tell my secrets to
The one who holds me through sad times
The one tells me what to do
And help me control my mad times

Her hope is as big and strong as a mountain
Her love is more powerful than a tide or a fountain
Her courage is stronger than any on earth
Yet all of these things have no worth
She tells me great stories from long ago
She tells me things I do not know
She can walk into your heart without any feet
And she has powerful speech

I’m crazy about my mother
And she is crazy about me too
If she died, I wouldn’t know what to do
My mother’s heart is as pure as gold
A smile that sparkles like silver
And a spirit like a flower that never withers
She maybe as old as sand
But she is my best friend.
This is my first poem! I wrote in my 7th grade science class. It was published twice. It was the beginning of my poetry career. This was before 2003.
Amber May 2016
My mother  grew  up  in the sand
among wolfs and sheeps
The herd  was  her family
She was a nomad
And the first to flee in her generation
She  ran with her family
when  the  bullets  hit our home
My mother carried all of her children
in her arms
Through landscapes she
Saw lions and elephants running
She saw the fear   in their eyes
Our paradise   had been sold to the devil
and  everything with a soul was leaving
When the sky turned dark
she  climbed over spike fences
and crossed the border
There wore   her brothers awaiting
and their eyes glowed in the
dark 
Greeting her to safety
My mother  built a house with her hands.
Only to witness it being torn down
My mother   is a warrior,
she  survived  the worst
and gave me the best
a future.

— The End —