Mother

She never asked for anything.

Never raised her voice.

Never looked tired—though I know now, she often was.

My mother was a quiet storm,

A silent strength,

And the heartbeat of our home.

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I remember waking up to the aroma of fresh bread.

It always seemed magical—

As if the scent floated from her soul into the morning air.

She would already be up,

Praying, cooking, cleaning.

The sun rose after her.

So did we.

---

She wasn’t educated in schools,

But she taught me everything that mattered:

Respect.

Kindness.

Patience.

Forgiveness.

And above all—love.

---

She had a way of listening that made you feel safe.

Not with words,

But with her eyes—soft and deep.

Her silence spoke louder than most people’s shouting.

---

When I fell and scraped my knees,

She didn’t panic.

She cleaned the wound gently,

Blew softly on it,

And said,

“You’ll heal stronger.”

---

She did the same when life scraped my heart.

When I failed.

When I cried.

When the world hurt me—

She healed me with presence,

Not just with words.

---

Our home was small,

But her heart was vast.

Everyone was welcome—

Friends, neighbors, strangers.

If someone came hungry,

She fed them.

If someone cried,

She sat with them.

---

I didn’t realize back then—

How often she gave up her share,

So I could eat more.

How many dreams she set aside,

So I could chase mine.

---

I once asked her,

“Mother, why don’t you rest?”

She smiled and said,

“A mother’s rest is in her child’s peace.”

---

As I grew older,

I saw the lines on her face deepen.

Each wrinkle held a story,

Each story carried sacrifice.

---

She never asked for applause.

She never wanted recognition.

But I saw her—

I saw everything.

---

She wore the same clothes for years.

She stitched ours when they tore.

She walked miles to buy the cheapest vegetables,

So we could eat well.

---

There were days she cried alone in the kitchen.

I saw her once.

She wiped her tears quickly and smiled when she saw me.

“Just some onions,” she said.

But I knew they weren’t.

---

She believed in prayers.

In goodness.

In fate.

Even when life wasn’t fair,

She stayed kind.

---

There was strength in her softness.

Fire in her forgiveness.

A whole world in her arms.

---

When I succeeded,

She clapped the loudest—

Even if the world was silent.

When I failed,

She held me tighter—

Even when others turned away.

---

She didn’t know how to use a phone.

But she knew when I was sad.

She didn’t read books.

But she knew how to read my silence.

---

Now I live far away.

Chasing a dream she once whispered into my sleep.

Each time I come home,

Her hug feels smaller—

But warmer.

---

She is older now.

She walks slower.

But her heart beats the same—

Loud and strong and full of love.

---

I try to tell her now—

How much she means.

But the words always fall short.

How do you thank someone

Who gave you everything?

---

She once told me,

“A mother is like a candle.

She burns herself so others can see.”

---

And she did.

Every day.

Without complaint.

---

If I could gift her the world,

It would still feel too small.

Because she gave me the stars,

The sky,

And a home called love.

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To the woman who shaped my soul—

Thank you, Mother.

For every quiet sacrifice.

For every loud heartbeat.

For being my beginning,

And always—my strength.