The Child You Left Behind

My existence began in your womb,

My heart's first beat echoed in your embrace,

But mother, have you become like those who forget their essence amidst the world's glitter?

Mother... you gave me birth, yet entrusted my upbringing to someone else. Why? Was there no yearning in your heart for me, the kind that resides in every mother's heart? Was your maternal love so fragile that it succumbed to a few hardships?

My entire life has been a question: “Where is my mother?” Every year on my birthday, every time someone hugged me, every time someone called out “mother,” cracks formed in the walls of my heart.

Mother, when you let me go from your arms, did your heart not tremble even for a moment? Did your eyes not try to hide their tears? Did you think that one day, when this child grows up, he will ask? He will question: “Mother, why did you leave me?”

When you brought joy to a childless couple, did you not feel the pain of taking joy away from your own child? Perhaps for you, this decision was a necessity, a temporary solution, but for me, it became a lifelong darkness.

My new parents gave me a lot shelter, food, clothes but not a mother's embrace, not the warmth of maternal love. Their affection lacked the selflessness that only a mother can provide.

Sometimes at night, when everyone was asleep, I would cry silently, burying my face in the pillow so no one could hear. My sobs bore witness to the pain that only separation from a mother can cause.

I also remember the time when my new parents had their own child. That day, everything changed. The love that was once mine became halved. The attention that was mine shifted to someone else.

Mother, did you ever think about this? That if they had their own child, what would become of me? Did you consider that every emotion, every desire of mine would shatter?

Time passed, I grew up, but the void in my heart only expanded. I received everything the world could offer, but not what only a mother can give.

My eyes longed for every mother. When I saw a child with their mother, my heart would cry out: “I wish that mother were mine.”

Mother, don't you know that a child lives through their mother's touch? It's through her touch that they find peace. That lullaby, those prayers, those pats, that love in the eyes all that only a mother can give I was deprived of them.

You might say it was your compulsion—poverty, helplessness, or perhaps societal pressure. But mother, wasn't my right greater than all these? Doesn't a mother prioritize her child over the fears of the world?

Mother, do you still think about me? Do your eyes ever well up in my memory? Do you ever stay awake at night thinking about me? Have you ever wondered where I am? How I am? Whether I'm happy or sad?

Sometimes, I wish to come to you, to see you, to embrace you. But then I stop. I think, perhaps you've forgotten me. Perhaps you're engrossed in another life now. Perhaps there's no place for me in your eyes anymore.

Mother, I am human. I have emotions, dreams, desires. I too wish for someone to hug me with love, to place a hand on my head, to be proud of my achievements, to cry over my sorrows.

But I received none of this because you entrusted me to someone else.

Mother, do you know that the world calls me an “adopted child”? As if I'm an object, a product, transferred from one hand to another.

My identity, my recognition, my soul's connection—everything was taken from me. I became incomplete.

Mother, you might say you had no choice. But mother, there's no substitute for maternal love. A mother isn't just a means to fill the stomach; she soothes the soul, breathes life into the heart.

Have you too changed amidst the cunningness, colors, and glitter of the world? Have you forgotten selfless love?

True mothers are those who call their children pieces of their heart, who sleep on wet spots to let their children sleep on dry ones, who stay hungry to feed their children.

Mother, weren't you that mother?

Mother, if even today you yearn for me somewhere, if there's still a place for me in your heart, then call me once. Hug me. Tell me that I am yours, and you are mine.

Every moment of my life is calling out to you, mother.

If even today you think about me, know that your child still remembers you. Forgives you, but asks you:

Mother, have you changed too .

In last my advice to those mothers is: never give your child to anyone—because a child is not something to be loaned or given in charity. No one truly understands what these children go through. They live every moment in restlessness, yearning for every single relationship.