Our Mothers

By Sabina Giado

Her hands are hardened, there are lights in her eyes,
As she toils at that unforgiving stove,
‘Tis a labour of love she performs,
Her brow is sweaty, the humid fumes rise above and over her head,
Yet we know that fairies dance on her shoulders,
For she smiles a peaceful smile,
All the while.
For each one of us, Allah has placed,
Guardian angels on Earth,
Who shelter us with their battered wings,
Who point to their wounds and tell its story,
Whose tears are like rain,
Whose smiles are like sunshine,
Whose acceptance lift our spirits like albatrosses in the wind,
Surely God could not have placed,
Such love in no other,
Than in those oft-forgotten jewels,
Our mothers.

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