Why don't I feel Special?
Why don’t I feel special?
(Every mother’s day I feel bombarded by these random thoughts and so this time I decided to write them down and clear my head once and for all)
That day is upon me again,
The day I am special and great,
And yet that gap remains
Where, I feel undeserving of this praise.
Yes, it is mother’s day,
a day like any other,
since the birth of creation,
to this desperate population boom; always a case
of the condom gone wrong
in my husband's wise eyes.
I was supposed to bear them in sweat and pain
Except they made their way through a slit of a knife
And I was handed creatures I knew nothing about
And for sure they made me a mother,
And they were oh so cute, no doubt.
And while the nannies bathed them
And played with them in the parks,
And the domestic help cooked for them
I was the celebrated mother,
Who worried for them.
Except I didn’t.
Not so much at least.
That one job of worry,
I couldn’t carry, I didn’t bother to pine,
I say they are programmed to grow
Mother Nature has them tuned, just fine.
I am supposed to have contributed to their lives
Other than just the bearing them,
Except that I didn’t. Again.
(How am I supposed to?)
what a failure I have been to them.
But they, these unsuspecting lovely souls
Have brought so much to my life
Made me grow, made me feel
Gushed out creativity, like never before.
They force me to be great for them to see
Drive me to achieve,
To carry on a legacy.
In these innocent souls
I saw a whole new world
A world I want them to protect
And for that purpose make them strong.
They taught me cricket
That their father couldn’t
They make me wish to redo my life
And live once again.
While writing I am suddenly clear
It’s hit me like a bullet from nowhere
I am remembered because no one
Can love them,
the way I can.
Yes, this is an unconditional love
But I will feel fulfilled
Once they have taken flight
That their life is shaped by values
Where I have taught them wrong and right.
And for all those gushing about this day
Let’s hope our children
When we need them most
Do honour us,
And it is their hand we hold
And not some stranger’s
When we take our last