The Prayer to The Mother

Dearest Mother,

They say it’s you we can turn to
In times of tight-eyed prayer
When tears have shed bare
From imparting too much of ourselves
Giving away our moments of existence
During when we just forget
And plough in all our time for the self
Thinking in the end we’ll not regret

But how naïve and bland we make out life to be
When truly, we only say “please”
On the rocky second we start to feel queasy
And learning to presume your very presence
Is perpetually just a handslap away
Closing out our eyes for mere longer blinks
From the piercing light through the chinks
In our cotton-armoured lives
And leaving the mending to your divine tool hands

I put my hands in prayer for your help, dear Mother
To unleash our slithering pride instead
To build on a humble garment
And leave judgement to whom we thank our existence

And despite the temptations of praying
For the sad and selfish needs of Me
I pray not for certain miracles to be
Not for the ashes of hurt to be reborn
Not for peace of my mind
Nor even possessions of any worldly kind

I pray for a bigger miracle
Not only for the bodily experience
But the mind and soul of every person in this world
Be it friend or foe
Strangers or people we know
Everyone we love or hated
And people who slide through the paths
Of our everyday lives

I pray for the fiercest of their personal storms to subside;
That the petals of peace be washed upon all lands;
That love will not be just a word of transient moments
But an enduring one they can find in their hearts;
That apathy, fear and self-centredness be sword down;
So that pain would only be a mere recording of history
And that the smiles of our offspring shall be sweetly savoured
And that we know God has always been by our side