AN ODE TO MY MOTHER

My mother, Oh I don’t know how she does it.

To beautifully remain soft and strong and kind,

In a  world that has been unkind beyond her years.

My mother, oh she is a mother her whole life. 

Mother at a young age.

And even in all her succeeding lifetime I know she would still thrive to give us the comfort we have our whole life.

No traces of regrets nor grievances.

If I could only beg the universe hard enough to bring back her lost years.

God, oh God, I would. 

My mother,  oh she has the kind of love that gives its all.

Ensures we’re breathing even when she’s gasping for air.

Rescue us out of deep waters even when she’s drowning.

Empty her plate to fill up ours.

Sacrifice her comfort for our welfare.

Give up everything her hands have touched so our hands are filled with dreams and love.

My mother, oh, she is a warrior.

A soldier unreluctant to respond to every war just to give us peace.

Place herself held in gunshot in lieu of our battle scars.

Always enduring.

Not asking for anything. 

~Jen Ycong