is it a sin to call you mother?
would it be a lie to say that I lost my mother?
that she passed into the fountains that run in streams of the razaks,
the bounties of death we carry,
in the weight of the name that sits with God,
‘provider’, ‘sustenance’,
but yet we are left empty handed,
while providing gifts, we leave this earth too early,
soil moist, ready to absorb new body,
there must be a beauty in these deaths,
why it seems, we only lose our treacle hearts
to weeping mud, dreams and prayers,
dipping in holy water, stinging,
now,
months have passed,
yet there is not a single bruise on my body that has left,
I moved,
you stayed put,
hidden with the layers of my skin.
you provide now,
while I am at loss,
drowning in my own sea.