Mother (Two)
On my love,
I do not like to talk too much
As a lot of words
Will only create a commotion
So I prefer to keep a silence
On my nuance
Rest of all I leave,
For your better comprehension
In your child hood
When you do not eat
And in your adult hood
When you do not give me food
Silently I always cry
But still on my brave face
I keep a broad smile..
I do not call you to come in
When I burn myself under the sun,
But when I see you to face cold out-side
I must welcome you to this cave
Even I have to burn my ribs to give you warmth inside.
I do not allow you to hold my hand
When we cross a river or pass a narrow bridge
In danger I know you can leave
But I always hold your hand, tight,
And throw you up to the other side
Though I never think whether I will be dead or alive.
poem by Abdul Wahab
Added by Poetry Lover
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