Being a mother is weary
There are times when I get lost in me and mine
But when I do wake up
I find my children turned into monkeys
Long nails, long hairs, unwashed and unraveled
I do wake up and tell myself,
Let’s stay awake till they grow up.

Being a mother is to know your own short-coming
you watch your children turning into you
a reflection of your imperfection
how can they become more than what you are
you will never have an answer
and there is never a clue or a tool.

Being a mother is to preach non-stop
Seems like I have million good advises
Do I even follow them?
There are so many values to teach
Which ones are more important?
Seems like all?
Do they even understand?
The importance of love and kindness,
or having a dream.

Being a mother is to know everything
why the shadow is black?
why the sky is blue?
why it rains?
why is it always me?
you are never fair
what do I get? and so on...

Being a mother is to be in constant fright
of what your child is becoming
and what they are to become
Will they be happy?
Will they drift away?
Will they still hold this laughter?
will their eyes always shine as bright as their heart?

Being a mother is to be a scary monster
a nightmare that will haunt them and taunt them
now and even when they grow up
to shout, yell and say ‘no’
You know you are doing a bad job,
when you see those frightened faces
How do I ever make amend?

Being a mother is to be a fuzzy bear
to hold your children dear to your heart
the warm hugs, and the kisses in mid of tears
to say, ‘now there, there'
to hold them in when it rains.