Mother Poem by Saju Abraham

You have thrilled thousands on the screen,
with your acts of a valiant son.
You have won accolades
for your poems praising mother.
Your sculptures of a mother
feeding infant were sell outs.

What does a mother get for all she is?
The lips that she nurtured hurl abuses at her.
The feet that she kissed kick her in the womb,
kick her where she carried you for nine months.
Do you notice the sign of her sacrifice on your body?
The sign of the cord that tied you to your mother,
the cord that kept you alive,
and prepared you for the battle with the world.

Our houses have become museums;
the living we have locked up in homes.
In her silence, in her sobs, she still insists,
take me home sons and daughters.
When will the mothers be brought home?
When will love return to our lives?
No art can imitate what an infant feels,
as its lips touch its mother's breasts fist time.