If I was damned of body and soul,
I know whose prayers would make me whole,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’mine. (- Rudyard Kipling)
London, Manchester and Preston.. Ripon Street.. Fishergate hill.. I have lived in different houses but not one a “home”.. because, a home is only where mother is. She is somebody I had known even before I was born. She taught me to smile,dress up and grow to be a fine man.
They say, some mothers are ‘kissing mothers’, some are ‘scolding mother’, but it is love just the same, and my mother, like most mothers kissed and scolded together. A mother kisses when she shows affection, and her scoldings are affection with care preceding it.
If you have a mother, there is nowhere you are likely to go where a prayer has not already been. He is a poor son whose sonship does not make him desire to serve all
men’s mothers. Pity, some couldn’t be by their own mothers when they grow up to be what their mothers wished and prayed for, and did all that could her two hands. Evolution, somehow didnt apply to mothers, else they wouldnt have had only two hands.
Sweater – if a child is asked what it is, then he knows that it is a warm garments which he wears when its cold and the mother is feeling chilly. I now know how sensitive my mum is to cold and riddles me why she didn’t feel cold when we were on a holiday, it was 4 degrees, and I was cold! Seeing there were only 3 pieces of pie for a family of 4, she promptly announced she never did care for pie; which she loved. That is my maa & I miss her.
The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness. If unfortunate you have been adandoned by yourself and have thrown yourself away from her then call her, walk up to her and hug her. Trust me, ther is nothing like a mama-hug. Mother love is the fuel that enables a normal human being to do the impossible.
I miss her so much tonite that a tear rolled out, not because she is not with me here but because I am not with her. When the kids miss the mother then remember, the mother is missing them more than that, imaginable by a child.
My mother is a poem
I’ll never be able to write,
though everything I write
is a poem to my mother.
..nothing, indeed, is like a mama-hug!