An ode to my mother

An ode to my mother

They took her away

A poem by Ahmed Bin Qasim 


Twisting and turning, staring through the window, everything felt so silent.
And lying on the bed in a room so hushed with a head so vibrant, that night stillness felt violent.

She was not with me, miles away but my heart felt her warmth, though it was all so fickle.
I craved the little things people! Just holding her hands, calling her mother and that carefree giggle.

I heard she had a strong voice, moved hearts of millions and her speech was so firm and fierce.
What was it with her lullaby then? That sense of calmness and peace in knowing that she cares.

I close my eyes and I let my imagination take me to her, who could be more beautiful than her?
In this world of competition and race of going first towards the gold, that woman sat down and listened to me even while I slur!


I remember the school time and how I didn’t want to go but she never let me stay, funny because she too missed me the moment I was gone.

She smiled at the gate and reminded me not to throw the lunch away, she cared for me even when her own heart was sad and torn.

I would run and run like a mad man in rain believe me, just if I was to find her at the end of the path.
And you won’t find her love in stories or poetry, I found it on her face when I laughed while she gave me a bath.

They torture her, isolate her and try to break her will and she bears all the pain not grumbling but total gratitude shown.
People ask me about my purpose in life and for the woman she is, nothing is greater than being her chaperon.


At school, they had these forms and there was this box meant for her occupation and profession.
I put the pen down and thought, what do I write here? She wasn’t about degrees and job, she was about legacy and determination.

We never had a man at home and this woman was everything for us, a great preacher and a beautiful teacher.
The child I was, my clothes needed a patch and this woman was a tailor, had a fever and she was our only doctor.

I miss her palm on my face but her hands are growing old with years of selfless struggle.
I wish I could touch them gently, make her feel that she has me now and I shall never let her fumble.

They say she is aged, they say that she is crippled and broken and meek.
And she can’t do much by herself now, has frayed nerves and is totally weak.


And I feel scared of losing her, I feel fragile but I smile when I hear this.
It’s not about what she can’t do now, tell them it’s about what she has done, I’ll trade the world for her kiss.

They say her hands are infirm, the grip is frail but they don’t know these hands have tended me and my brother right.
Though she is miles away caged inside four walls, I know she cries for me and these hands are raised to the skies every night.

I open my eyes, these thoughts go away and the reality burdens me and kills every inch of hope, it’s all dismay.
I wish they looked into her eyes while she prays for me, while she remembers her son! Would they still take her away?

See they did, they knew how she loved me and needed me and yet they took my paradise away from me because it’s all beneath her beautiful feet.
For as painful as it gets, we’ll together hold them accountable in the hereafter for keeping us apart, for all their deceit.

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    By: KN Web Desk

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