* Teacups on Mothers Day

 

They are  here,  on the red earth we walk on

 caressing 

Mine drank tea from a bowl the Indian way

His, from a dainty tea cup which probably saw her husband go to war in 1939 and not come back

They were girls too, once, longing for orange touches from their mothers

With the tea, there were bright yellow chickpea flour Gathias or

Cheese with English Mustard

Mine had probably finished chopping the latest batch of green spinach

....in lakeside Kisumu, Kenya.

His- pruning the award-winning Sussex garden

industrious- always 

Mammoth loving hearts they both had

Merciful: Lenient:Compassionate: Forbearing: Magnanimous:Tolerant:Charitable: Soft-hearted: Understanding: Placable: Patient: Caring

like GIANT Oak  Baobab trees

Did they sing while they drank their Tea

What were they listening to?

as toddlers in 1908 and 1938, or when they married in maybe 1925 and 1952?

Mothers have an auto wisdom - an auto love system- an auto warm heart

Their smiles are navy blue, pink or gold available forever, unlimited, auto endless

The first to hold our fingers and take us to places of worship

where purple robes float, dance, reach out and  become our real anchors of life

Some of us become mothers, fathers or just citizens of the world

with manners, etiquette, habits, thoughts, shade learned from our dear Mothers

who  have struggled, suffered, cried, laughed, while they drank the tea from these very visible vessels of drinking that remain with us

and become our white in black

our light in the darkness

lamps, bright, uplifting, endearing, joyful,  tea cups

Rumi- My mother is love, I am a child of Love

Shakespeare- Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee / Calls back the lovely April of her prime

Tagore ( He lost his mother when he was 3) 

I cannot remember my mother, only sometimes, in the midst of my play, a tune seems to hover over my playthings, the tune of some song that she used to hum while rocking my cradle. 

I cannot remember my mother, but when in the early autumn morning, the smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air, the scent of the morning service in the temple comes to me as the scent of my mother. 

I cannot remember my mother, only when from my bedroom window I send my eyes into the blue of the distant sky, I feel that the stillness of my mother's gaze on my face has spread all over the sky.