The Forgotten Dreams of Mothers

She once dreamed of canvases, wide and bright

Of dancing shoes and city light

Of books she'd write and stars she'd name,

Of foreign streets and stage-born fame

But life, it called her with a cry,

Tiny fingers and lullabies

She packed her dreams in drawers so deep,

And sang her child instead to sleep

The world saw "Mom," not mind or soul,

Not artist, poet, or quiet goal

They loved her meals, her folded beds,

But never asked what lived inside her head

She stitched the sky in bedtime tales,

Wiped dreams from cheeks and silent wails

Her laughter now a softened song,

But oh, her dreams still float along

So listen close when she sits still,

When tea grows cold upon the sill

She’s not just love in human form,

She’s galaxies behind the norm

Not every hero holds a sword,

Some wear aprons, unseen, ignored.

And yet their dreams, though left unheard,

Still bloom like poetry in a whispered word

Thank you for reading 🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤