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My mother

No, she barely saw the good in people,

to safeguard, she was holding the rapier in her hand.

Wherever we went she was showing her outrage to the world,

my momma always made me the centre of her world.

Held me in her arms, wrapped with the shawl,

undoubtedly she was a combatant trying to save her only left.

Too many bruises she carried,

knowing she wasn’t squabbling but sheltering,

the flower they once took from her garden,

the flower that was everything to her.

They saw the rage in her eyes, I saw the fear,

they saw her darkest side, I saw my mother.

-Riya Shah

By Ray

POET| CONTENT WRITER| BLOGGER

5 replies on “My mother”

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