My Mother Poem by Naveed Akram

My mother, with her various looks,
Was mighty with her tongue
Since talking towards a religion
Mattered to the rich and wealthy.
This was strung together
With my observation, a skill of grace
And an art of happiness.
As witty as pushing the carts
Into the streets, management
Of life occurred, for my mother
Was a parent of her fingers.
And actions were somewhat
Desirous of minding, actions represented
The skill of growth.