Marcus Czarnecki

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The Best Poem Of Marcus Czarnecki

Oh Mother

Mother
Have you ever seen
The eyes of a beautiful woman waiting to be killed.
The eyes of a mother who has lost her children?
Some go easily. Others have fight.
All touch the immense depths of human integrity,
It is those for whom I, boldly, yawp this ode today.

All mothers wail and yell at the death of their
children, babes
Some clever-twisted people try to tell me that
The mourning and grieving done by some mothers
Is different to the mourning and grieving done by
other mothers.
The clever-twisted people fail to remember that motherhood Is motherhood pure and simple.

The clever ones have been deceived by their own fear.
Made heavy and dangerous by the weight of their
Prejudice.

Motherhood is universal.
Have you ever seen the sun, and melted with love for this planet?

Are prejudice and fear 'sins'?
I would rather call them crimes against humanity -
For they are so easy to overcome

The deceived ones try to tell me that a
Brown baby has less value than a white baby.
Its life less valuable.
Its dreams and thoughts less

Well, let me tell you, that no one is as vast as I.
I am you and you are me, and we breathe the belief of life together.
We are life.
We are here, and exist.
Each bead of sweat a diamond
each thought a gift beyond the power of imagination to qualify or measure.

Like you, like all mothers, I too am immeasurable
Like you, like all mothers, I too am fathomless
Like you, like all mothers, I too am august, and divine.

Is the suffering of rainbow coloured children different?
How?
Hammering our hearts in a rage against injustice
Daring to weep for peace.
Daring to dream for a time when the prime passion
Of world leaders is the happiness of Mothers
All Mothers

I say, how am i different?
Is my marching less valuable than the lies of
politicos?

They try to tell me that the tears of some mothers are more
Valid than that of other mothers.
What do they know?

Have the droppers of bombs ever birthed in the moonlight?
Ever loved something other than their own power?
Ever worshipped something more sacred that their own
faces?
Ever cherished something beyond a big-mac.
Ever dared enough to dream.
To dream a dream for peace.

Too unattainable they say, too weird, to waste precious eating time over.

They are not the men who dare to weep for others.
They are liars by the fireside.
They are not the friends of lions.
They are bereft of love with the hearts of dogs

They have never had to find the various parts of their
Darlings strewn in the rubble of anger.
They have never had to dig through the tears and wailing
Of townships reeling in disbelief, trying to find their
Babies in the dust of such terrible dreams.

They have only flicked switches in rhythm to the music of murder,
Because, whilst young, someone told them too...
That the mourning and grievings done by some mothers
Is different to the mourning and grieving
Done by other mothers

How tragic.
How deep are the scars of human hatreds
How fragile the dream of love.

Oh Mothers!
Oh! Mother.
Oh!

But here is my heart
And in its depths, just as in yours,
There we dare to dream a dream
That beats to the rhythm of peace

Mothers.
For you I continue.

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