Dear Mother, We Forgot to Say Thank You

Dear Mother, We Forgot to Say Thank You

We walk on you, barefoot and blind,

Chasing clocks, leaving grace behind.

Yet you hold us, warm and wide—

With oceans deep and skies that cried.

You fed us fruits, from trees unknown,

Taught rivers how to hum and moan.

You painted sunsets with your hands,

And stitched the stars to endless lands.

You let us carve, you let us build,

You bore the weight, though gently filled.

With forests green and desert gold,

With ancient truths we never told.

You gave us wind — to lift our dreams,

And quiet nights with moonlit beams.

You gave us seasons — joy and pain,

And still, we cursed the monsoon rain.

Your heartbeat pulses in the breeze,

In whispering grass, in buzzing bees.

And though we bled your veins with greed,

You grew again, from every seed.

What mother gives and asks no name?

Who shelters us through joy and shame?

You never asked for diamond rings,

Just softer steps, more mindful things.

But we, in haste, forgot to bow,

To kiss your roots, to ask you how.

So now I write, with humbled pen,

A thank you we should say again.

For every tree that kissed the sky,

For every bird you taught to fly,

For every dawn, and every night,

For every shadow cast in light.

Thank you, Earth, for being true—

For loving us when we withdrew.

We owe you songs, not smoke and stain.

We owe you peace, not plastic pain.

Let this be more than poetry,

Let it be whispered silently—

A vow to care, to give, to see…

That you and we were meant to be.