She's a global, yet unsung hero.
Her battleground is her lap.
Her hands are her weaponry.
Capped in prayers and worship, every warrior she carries home.
Her fight is fuelled by the will for a better future.
Her war songs are her tears and struggles, her worries and sleepless nights.
The first one up and the last one to bed every day.
Year in, year out.
She sacrifices her happiness for her troops, and her meagre meal feeds every wanderer.
Her back is hardened by grenades of bills,
and her knuckles are bruised by shrapnels of hardship.
Yet she soldiers on, for she has an indestructible commander.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem