Mother Love

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She ran; madly she ran,
asking for mustard seeds,
only some, a little,
a handful of mustard seeds
to cure her son.

She ran; madly she ran
from one house to another,
where none had ever died,
asking for mustard seeds,
from a family of immortals.
“She is mad; her endeavor is mad;
it’s as futile as that squirrel mother’s act,”
onlookers thought; none spoke,
but she ran; madly she ran.

She started at dawn
when dew was glistening,
and bubbles were dancing
to the tune of oil lamps.
She ran; madly she ran,
passing the dying buds and roses,
burnt by the scorching sun,
but still she ran; madly she ran.

She ran; madly she ran,
with no food, with no drink,
with disheveled hair, loosened clothes,
while tears of blood were pouring
from her aching, motherly breasts.
She ran; still she ran, madly she ran.
“Sister, your run is mad;
we are mortals but not immortals,”
they said, but she ran; madly she ran.

She ran; faster she ran;
madly she ran,
until the sun died,
the life giver and killer died,
and till houses and trees wore
black veils to mourn for his death,
she ran, madly she ran.

Suddenly, her tears stopped;
she stopped, but with her son,
the lifeless flower,
still in her arms.

Sketch by Sachin Ranaweera

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8 thoughts on “Mother Love

  1. Distressing. Did you actually see a mother w/ her child begging for assistance? It sounded that way, very real. The mention of mustard seeds suggested a folk remedy to me. I thought your use of the term “immortals” was poignant, as well. When we have not experienced loss, we cannot full grasp the pain it involves.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thank you so much for your great comment. I am a fan of your comments. This poem is based on a Buddhist tale: The Story of Kisa and Mustard Seeds. Personally, I have seen how mothers react to the situations when something unexpected happens to their children. Thank you again.

    Liked by 1 person

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