Mother

I feel

a thousand years of labor with one palm towards the earth

Pounding, breathing, hearts beating,

Laboring for love

Laboring for fear

I thank

the earth, time capsule, library of stories-old

Tales of her faithfulness and selflessness shelved according to season

Earth,

She

a violated creature, desecrated, survivor

chin-up, she plays colorful, original tunes

Woodwinds- soft yellows

Basses- deep orange

Violins- off-whites

Brass- mellow blues

Cellos tangerine, blush, cream she plays

For us

In the mornings

While we drink her water soaked coffee beans and her tea-sprouts

She gives her best for each generation

She is beauty and can give nothing else

Nothing less

Beauty we admire and beauty we are too weak to see

Offering the breast of her rains, her sun, her green

She is selfless, tenaciously warm for us, courageous, torn but persistently healing, for us

for her offspring who see her and love her still

for herself,

she knows the timelessness of her own being

She knows she is a cosmic miracle

She celebrates her life, her own right

Not even her love for us, her loving children and thieves

Can sway her belief