That tear away labour (For the mother…)

She bears it all alone, 

the weight of conception’s call. 

Enduring sickness within, 

three-quarters of a year, body uptight. 

 

Again, labour's tearing veil, 

Sojourn ends in deliverance’s wail. 

Then come the sleepless nights, 

A curse, it seems, for our plights. 

 

Bound by maternal love’s deep sense, 

Solemnly pledged, we’re nourished hence. 

Dedicated to our growth, we sway, 

Unyielding commitment, day by day.

 

Mere words fail to convey appreciation, 

Lyrical strains can't echo adoration. 

No monologue, no soliloquy for admiration, 

This poetry falls short of glorification.

 

Poem by Peter Mutanda