Mother

I wonder and wonder again many times over this enigma

The person everyone calls mother, buwaji, mom, or simply ma

She agrees that you be fed and clothed , while she remains hungry and unclothed

Your thirst  be quenched while she endures thirst, she gave you the bounties, she went deprived

Her entire self was for you  a total protection, gave you the taste of sleep while she stayed awake

Her stomach was a container for you, breasts a source of food and her laps a secure place

I wonder because I never saw mine after I turned nineteen

The pain in my heart is indescribable, if you know what I mean

My siblings who spent more time with her tell me she was the best

If she was tough, mean, nasty and unloving, I could have rest

knowing that she was the best wanna make me cry

giving me 9 siblings, at age fifty-two why did she have to die

Now I hesitate to enjoy the many fruits of my labor, why I wonder

She only saw me as a student, enjoying without her would be a blunder

I wish she could live with me in a comfortable suburb, and ride in my Honda CRV

We would go places, she would check for namaaz time often, and ask where are we

She would be amazed at what all I know; I would still be very humble with her

She would play down her part in teaching but I know mother’s lap is cradle of culture

I still remember she used to say every mother should have a son like me

But I suspect she said that to all my siblings, I thought she only loved me

I remember her nagging about quran and ada namaaz, specially, shafa, vitar, julus

And if you had a clown for a birthday party instead of a darees, you were lacking in khulus

All mothers are special, I am sure everyone remembers their mothers just as dearly

Nothing in the world can match a mother’s look, touch or a hug even her sweet nagging, clearly

I am a grandpa now, I enjoy watching my children love & cherish their mother

I must have conveyed to them my pain, suffering, and longing for a hug from my mother

I want to see my mother again, but I will have to wait till I get to Jannat

But Jannat is under mother’s feet, that’s why I am longing for my mother first

When my mother was passing she told me a secret that my real mother was some one else

The clue she gave me was that we both shared that mother with all momeneen in the universe

That mother is Maola Burhanuddin who loves, teaches, nurtures and nudges us towards jannat

We all his children love him much and can’t pray enough for him to live healthy ta qiyamat.

Abd-e-Syedna, TUS  -  Shk. Husain Jamali, Anjuma-e-Burhanee, Los Angeles , CA