My Poor Mother Everything has a boundary. Neither you have border nor limitations. Either of days, weeks, months, and years or of east, west, north, and south. Explode for your territory, open your mouth. Awake my mother, awake. I heard the rumour of your pregnancy. It’s the 6th year of your conception. How abnormal still not born. Neither heard nor seen. But baptized as constitution. A foetus is frozen in the womb. Awake my mother, awake. You are laboring and suffering for the child, troubling in the pain, bleeding, sweating and screaming. No one cares for you. Everyone is snatching for the chair. Plotting for your calumination. Awake my mother, awake. You know my dear mother, thousands of people sacrificed, thousands blooded and deformed only for that foetus to born. But many attempts to abort you in the name of remedy Awake my mother, awake. My poor mother, your clothes are teared. Naked, wounded and ravished you are, parts of your body are fragmented by your own sons and daughters. Golden dreams are shattered Awake my mother, awake. Harmony, peace, progress, prosperity and happiness have become mere day dreams. Digging you a grave in the foreign land Awake my mother, awake. Your womb is not sterile. Bear a patriot not such traitors. Awake my mother, awake.
Posted on: Mon, 10 Jun 2013 08:06:29 +0000
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