P: 03-11-11-CREDO (27336)
P: 03-11-11-CREDO (27336)

An Ode to Mother

In my 18 years of life I haven’t seen bones tougher and flesh more elastic than my mother’s

Hours of excruciating agony it takes for life to begin

Sliced open, torn apart, to bring you here as one


I grew up in small houses, nothing more than one dilapidated room at one point

But it was my mother who held the walls together each time

Perhaps you have eight walls, sixteen walls, twenty-four walls,

The same two arms wrap around the edges

Hush, baby, go to sleep

Glorifying abuse and exploitation is far from my intent here

So here I am, not penning down a romance out of my mother’s – your mother’s struggle

But merely thinking to myself, how is human even capable of such acts of endurance

And how can we ever, oh ever return them

By Amna Waqar