I wanted to share this poem with you today. I feel happy because when I wrote this poem, I was feeling many emotions.
I was supporting a friend…. being there for her so that she could be more strengthened to support her child. We said so many things and I could relate with many of her fears.
Mothers…and fathers too … are strong people and sometimes, we worry when we set our babies free.
Children grow up so quickly and we can sometimes feel lost when this prospect lands at our doorstep.
Today, she sent me a message saying that all went well with her child.
I praise God for her. She let me share a small part of this huge journey with her child.
This poem is my gift to her…to you…and to all who look after a child.
I have titled the poem “Love cradled”.
I feel that the love for a child begins in this way from a mother’s perspective.
Despite the pain and anguish of bearing a child. A mother’s love lingers. Through sickness, hunger in the midst of plenty. Voraciousness despite satiety. Cravings, distaste, tiredness, tears, triumphs. A mother’s love tarries. Waiting to behold the one who nature crafts meticulously. Who the dawn of each passing day brings closer to perfection.
Then the d day arrives. The long awaited bundle of joy comes squealing with lungs of steel. Announcing an arrival like no other. Mother hopes for the best. As each passing day reveals the extent of personality, strength, weakness, hope, bleakness, brightness encased within the bundle of joy. Mother nurtures what nature brings. Trying her best to make the best out of this raw love nature befit Hoping to present a masterpiece to add to the sea of personalities that fill the world
Hoping the best has been done. Mother releases that which she has spent day and night nurturing. Have I done right? Have I done enough? Mother wonders. But time will tell. If the strength residing within the special joy bundle mixes rightly with mother’s lessons. Or if with pride misguides and misdirects what mother intended.
But only time can tell.
Only in time will we know
But we are reassured that the apples never roll far from the tree.
Iron sharpens iron and no one ever planted corn and reaped cassava.
So… trust that mother’s child will be like her.