The war is long over Ma

I look at my mother, and tears well.
She is a warrior emerged from battle,
And it sometimes saddens me that-
She still wears her armour when the war is long over.

I’ve watched half of her battles,
Seen her on the frontline-
Taking in the arrows for those behind.
I’ve watched her detach them,
Not even a moan kissing the air.

I know of battles I never saw,
Beats me how much steel formed her soul.
Sometimes I watch her,
Wonder how many demons she has had to fight,
How much strength she has had to ignite.

I see the arrowheads trapped in her heart.
She now has seven-foot tall walls around it.
Sometimes, rarely, you see the wound.
Raw, red and sometimes with pus,
It sits central and deep.

Sometimes I stare at her smile,
wonder how many were real,
and how many were painted so she’d not crumble.

And I want to ask,
‘Mama, whatever d’you do to not bumble?’

Sometimes I stare at her and want to ask-
When you cry, and no one wipes your tears,
Do you need someone drawing away your fears?
When it hurts and the past demands you remember,
Will you allow a moment of weakness and let me be your pillar?

See, our past is full of blots, but you and I,
we pledge amnesia.
Forever forward, backwards ne’er.

But Ma, the wounds are still fresh under these Band-Aids.
Ma, the pain still sings the songs of ago and-
maybe,
just maybe;
You can at least once uncase the armour,
Address the ruins we left.’

In her eyes are the wars my dearest ma lost,
The scars that never quite mended,
And when you ask she just smiles.
But in her Mona Lisa smile I will her to speak.
Of dreams trodden,
And desires weighed down under rivers.

I look at my mother and think-
Ma, someday, I will make you a queen,
Clothe you in purple and royal blue.
I will point the world to the crown atop your head ma.
I will fight your battles for you ma.
For once you will have a full night’s sleep ma,
And the monsters,
The monsters will be long gone.’

So I pray,
That when I grow up,
I will have courage enough to ask,
And fortitude enough to be your tower.

Love, me.

Photo courtesy: colourspecialist-charlotte.blogspot.com

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