Borta bra men hemma bäst.
Away is good but home is best.
Well, we had so many poems for Mothers’ Day, we’re revisiting today for Mothers’ Day in Sweden. Enjoy these by bogpan (Bozhidar Pangelov), Isadora de la Vega, and Anjum Wasim Dar, along with a two of my own. We love mom’s … which is not say, of course, that we don’t love dads.
© 2019, Isadora DeLaVega
My Mother’s Season
Is that the season?
The leaves are hitting the silent windows
and some roots of trees are creaking,
but I am a dream.
I do not recognize the colors,
when the sun of that town
without time shelters me like Mum.
Which flowers shall I gift to you?
I am not a saint – I cannot revive you.
I cannot even grief.
To gift to you – a last flower.
© 2019, bogpan (Bozhidar Pangelov)
Mother , You Are A Peace Maker’
Mother took me to a place new
unknown unfamiliar people around,
I felt afraid ,I cried, ,I held hard onto
her coat sleeve-I was pulled away
I shivered as if put in a cold water pool
Mother, for my good, left me in a school-
Mother looked down at me silently
and I pleaded silently as I looked up’
Then I saw her no more ,tears slipped
back, mind still ,thoughtless I sat on a stool
all I saw was a large blackboard, someone
tall by its side, arms moving, as if in a duel,
wearing a long straight white gown-
I just sat and looked I felt lost, my peaceful
world broke, then sounds like bells I did hear,
then dry for a while were the eyes, no tear’-
Mother Dear where are you’ I thought
I am looking all over for you’ around
and now I know that my peace is where-
in Mother’s love it is, it is in her care,
Mother please know you are the best
care taker…Mother you are the only
real peace maker’ now I am sure
Peace Can Come surely, if only, Mother is there.
– © 2017, Anjum Wasim Dar from her Peace Poems Collection
squeezing a penny
my mother never knew the names for things
the trees were just trees, the flowers just flowers,
she knew life as a sigh and aspiration as a linchpin,
she could get to work and maneuver in the dark,
she could squeeze a penny too
and force tired feet into worn shoes
© 2013, Jamie Dedes
And let us not forget the mothers who are marginalized, have lost their children, and are in pain.
Some Mothers’ Hearts Have Stopped
Some mothers’ children stare unseeing
No sweet, wet baby kisses from blistered lips,
. . . . songs unsung
No wedding portraits to dust and treasure
No graduations or trips to the sea
. . . . just their bodies to bury
by the engine of nihilism
Limbs cracked and broken, bellies torn
Faces purpled, hearts stopped
Hearts stopped …
. . . . hearts stopped
Some mothers’ hearts have stopped
© 2015, Jamie Dedes