Abdul Wahab


*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.




























mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother
mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother
mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother
mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother
mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother
mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother
mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother
mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother mother

Submitted: Friday, October 19, 2012
Edited: Monday, June 10, 2013

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Comments about this poem (*Mother (Two) by Abdul Wahab )

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  • Heather Wilkins (10/21/2012 2:47:00 PM)

    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. true description of a mother. (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »

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