- Books, Literature, and Writing
Oh mother when my soul has bled, you’ve helped by prayer, my tears to shed.
Your sentimental songs all hail, of tuneless rhythms, when I’m frail.
How is it that your tale so sad, makes you forget the pains you’ve had?
Oh mother when my soul is strong, you take me to where I belong,
The destiny you’ve mapped for me, within your womb, your mind’s esprit.
When darkness fell upon your life, why have you never shared your strife?
Oh mother when your husband died, the father of your only child,
His cancer- ridden body just, a pathos of a man in dust.
Your future now of hopeless dreams, why have I never heard your screams?
Oh mother, then, you gave your time, to grace the aged without a dime,
Your handicap, your only debt, your anthems of all wounds you’ve met.
Enshrouded by a life of deeds, why have you never taken heed?
Oh mother when you close your eyes, your life a worthy paradigm,
Your epitaph must read of things, that worldly knowledge never brings.
And on this day, when angels rise, oh mother, will you hear our cries?
Oh mother you are chronicled, with saints for sure, you’ll come to know,
Without a shadow of a doubt, your picture book, will be a clout.
With orchestras to play your hymns, Oh mother will you hear us sing?
By Nicky Bantham
Copyright © November 2010