A Tribute to Mothers

A Tribute To Mothers.



Mother has a way,

of existing,

in an optimum way,

with perfect balance between friction and gravity,

seasons, rainy or dry.



When this balance is disrupted,

she allows for it,

like nature,

like leaves swaying in the wind

that allow the sunlight to dance.



It is in this allowance

for extreme limits,

that consciousness is born,

resulting in clear thinking, strong-willed mind power,

mother knows best.



Mother's understanding has encouraged me

to experience life fully,

to discern, reflect, resolve,

to improve my well-being,

to acheive a capacity in knowingness.



I know this empirically

as I felt my soul burst forth

suddenly with splendour at times

in the sunshine/hurricanes of my mother's love,

in the mangrove swamps and rainforests of her tough love.



Mother catches love in the winds and feeds me,

shuts me in and protects me with her trees of

discretion, perception, courage, like fauns/forest spirits,

my roots lie here in her Immortelles, Poui, Palms,

Almond, Frangipani, I bask in her shades of insight.



The depths of mother's mind,

her values/ethics

extend father than the multiverses,

this wordiness does no justice to

and reduces the true meaning of her.



My abrasive mother gave me

in her quietude, zone of calmness,

like an unspoken agreement between mountains

and plantations of cocoa, citrus, coffee,

the key to unlock historical pain.



As I fly my colourful ancestry,

Amerindian, Sugarslave, European, Asian,

in this hot climate, by her example alone I learn

sacrifice, sanctification, character, truth, responsibility,

fearlessness, selflessness, honesty reborn into crystallised thinking.



As dense as ficus on the islands,

as vast as the Caribbean Sea,

no profession in life

is more noble and significant

than that of motherhood.



Motherhood culminates in

the birth of virtues, thoughts, souls,

distinguished to a degree

of perfection,

with unconditional love.



An abyss of flora, mother who spawns goodness,

bouquets of perfection in the Bromeliads, Orchids,

Hibiscus, Heliconias,

Alamandas, Anthuriums,

in the heart of a West Indian child.



Mother taught me to endure

pickers of Bougainvillae,

poison from the fruit of the Machineel tree,

resilience, temperance in my journey,

slow as Leatherback turtles, hasty as butterflies.



I come into existence, I become,

mosquitoes no longer bite my tough skin,

my crops no longer vulnerable to grasshoppers/pests,

the product of an untaught, inner dynamic

negating toward helping others, learnt through mother.



My anxiety subsides in mother's beauty,

her pearls of wisdom intricate as corals,

strong as alligators/crocodiles who pose no threat to me

as I learn to fly, her order/harmony transcend

into nature, into me.



Mother's love is as versatile as the fauna

of the forests and reefs of evolution,

after many wars, exploitations, oppressions,

over centuries of rape, molestation, incest,

generations of settlers passing through.



Mother's agony, averaged over time,

stored in the bowels of the islands,

brutal murders of seven, indigenous tribes,

the product of a moderated, bashed mind,

regenerated into the perfection of motherhood.



A concoction of history's mistakes with her love

has brought me into being, whole,

as she ensured my independence,

I flew free as Hummingbirds, Pelicans, Doves,

I soared strong as Parrots, Macaws, Mockingbirds.



Mother knew I had to become

friends with Savannah Hawks, Bats, Blackbirds,

rub shoulders with Red Howler Monkeys,

the pillar and essence of family,

the wisdom of mothers.



Heroism in doing little things,

justice in doing what is right,

moderation in mediating between internal consistency,

in taming my volcanic anger,

the whipping of appetites.



My shrewd mother is sometimes

cactus in my skin,

bush medicine for my soul,

aloe vera in my heart,

nectar through my mind.



As I drink her blend of virtues,

sugarcane, pommecythere, soursop, mango,

figue, passion fruit, sapodilla,

the fruit of her womb,

the elixir of motherhood blooms and lives on forever.



Soaking through to my every cell,

seeds of guava, avocado, sugarapple, pawpaw,

germinate, bearing fruit of angels,

sinking into contentment with yam, cassava, dasheen,

sweet patato, breadfruit, plantain, the grounding of a good mother.



Mother, an ambrosia,

blue food with bush rum,

has unleashed me into being,

connected, secure, audacious,

direct, sincere, all wrought through dicipline.



Mother, sweet like snowcone,

pigeon peas in pelau cooked with coconut milk,

coocoo with callalloo leaves and okra,

bitter as corailli,

teaches me strength and detachment.



The tasting of life,

a yearning for good relations

between all that exists

yields a fundamental interconnectedness,

creates harmony in spite of the greed of mankind.



Mother imparts the art of swallowing life,

saltiness with sweetness, sustainance,

no Soucouyant could suck my positive energy,

no Obeah/Voodoo-magic could drag me down

to the dark energy of the Dirac Sea.



Mami Wata would always rescue me

back to

wholeness, contentment, peacefulness

in the many white/pink/black sands

of many beaches.



Mother, sews together love and hate,

weaves harmony with increments of grace,

makes timeless music of steelpan and tassa drums,

allows me to dance a jig, limbo, mokojumbie,

I aspire to greatness.



Mother has intrinsically taught me

a symphony between spirits

that has inherently denoted fortitude,

I feel fulfilled,

happy.



I expound a plenitude of power, creativity, growth, freedom

for which I am thankful to my mother

in her imparting the mystery in suffering

beyond the horizon of the Caribbean Sea

to me.



As I swim through sorrowful waters,

waterfalls wash away my sins

into the Caribbean Sea,

grabbing the sunshine

I become limitless.



As I ponder

mother, the world, me,

its entropy all subject to

the thermodynamics of God,

I am thankful for me, the world and mother.



I know, respect and love her,

I forge on beyond space and time

in the pruning of my soul,

hopeful

for the eternity of mothers.



Poet: Simone Galy-Laquis