My mother put wet wipes on my forehead
while I laid shrouded, burning in my bed
Droplets soaked into my scalp, entered my brain
Neurons collided, coerced me to utter her name
Name, I did not remember. But her hands
Cast upon me a spell, are they magic wands?
What are mothers if not Holy Gods?
Why do they put aside all our odds?
There, in despair, I wonder if ever
Like she does, will I be able to serve her?
Zuria
Nov 27, 2021
©zuriasays
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