Mother πŸ’–


It’s been almost a week since Mother’s Day, and honestly, I didn’t want to write anything this year. I don’t know why? Maybe because this year it was on Sunday and I was not in a good mood! (Although it’s never minded which day it is, the mother always remains in the heart.) But it has changed my mind when I saw on Monday, exactly one day after Mother’s day, one of my dearest friend Deborah Gregory announced that her mother had passed away. It hit my heart! First, it’d happened on Mother’s Day. Second, she had just got the news and wasn’t there with her. Of course, I know nothing about her mother and their relationship, but only this point that she couldn’t be by her side to say goodbye, it must take the heart apart. I hope that she’ll stay well and strong. πŸ’•

My mother was not far away from me when she died, I had even seen her on her last day in the hospital, although that wasn’t a nice encounter. But our minds were far away from each other. In the last year of her life, when she got sick, I was in puberty and the highest hippie state, and our relationship has not been the best since our father-in-law was in her companion. Even though I’m missing her closeness in this period of time. I was at an age in which every cell in my body had been desiring to know more, and to quench my thirst for knowledge. It is an essential time in everybody’s life, but we had missed this chance. I wished we have had much more time with each other.

Anyhow, by her post, the memories of my mother took floating in my mind. She kept all through her life only one word for her goal: Love, love for her husband and love for her children. A young beautiful girl with many wishes and dreams gave her best, might not be perfect, but most of her efforts for all of us.

She was an active woman, and when she got blood cancer (Leukemia), she couldn’t even walk. My father in law had brought her to England, and with the help of Cortisone, she got fit again. I will never forget when I saw her at the airport, puffed up through Cortisone, but heavenly happy.

Here, I share a poem from one of the best Persian poet Forugh Farrokhzad, whom my mother had loved so much. Forough died in a car crash on February 13, 1967, at the young age of 32.


My entire soul is a murky verse
Reiterating you within itself
Carrying you to the dawn of eternal burstings and blossomings
In this verse, I sighed you, AH!
In this verse,
I grafted you to trees, water and fire

Perhaps life is
A long street along which a woman
With a basket passes every day

Perhaps life
Is a rope with which a man hangs himself from a branch
Perhaps life is a child returning home from school

Perhaps life is the lighting of a cigarette
Between the narcotic repose of two lovemakings
Or the puzzled passage of a passerby
Tipping his hat
Saying good morning to another passerby with a vacant smile

Perhaps life is that blocked moment
When my look destroys itself in the pupils of your eyes
And in this there is a sense
Which I will mingle with the perception of the moon
And the reception of darkness
In a room the size of one solitude
My heart
The size of one love
Looks at the simple pretexts of its own happiness,
At the pretty withering of flowers in the flower pots
At the sapling you planted in our flowerbed
At the songs of the canaries
Who sing the size of one window.
This is my lot
This is my lot
My lot
Is a sky, which the dropping of a curtain seizes from me
My lot is going down an abandoned stairway
And joining with something in decay and nostalgia
My lot is a cheerless walk in the garden of memories
And dying in the sorrow of a voice that tells me:
β€œI love
Your hands”
I will plant my hands in the flowerbed
I will sprout, I know, I know, I know
And the sparrows will lay eggs
In the hollows of my inky fingers
I will hang a pair of earrings of red twin cherries
Round my ears
I will put dahlia petals on my nails
There is an alley
Where the boys who were once in love with me,
With those disheveled hairs, thin necks and gaunt legs
Still think of the innocent smiles of a little girl
Who was one night blown away by the wind
There is an alley which my heart
Has stolen from places of my childhood
The journey of a volume along the line of time
And impregnating the barren line of time with a volume
A volume conscious of an image
Returning from the feast of a mirror
This is the way
Someone dies
And someone remains
No fisherman will catch pearls
From a little stream flowing into a ditch
I Know a sad little mermaid
Dwelling in the ocean
Softly, gently blowing
Her heart into a wooden flute
A sad little mermaid
Who dies with a kiss at night

As I look at the photographs and see her lovely beautiful face, I wanna thank her for her heartfelt fondness, and I give her back my adorations. Thank you, mother. I will never forget you.

PS: next weekend, I will be on the way if everything works out! We want to spend some days at the Baltic Sea. I wish you all a great weekend and peaceful times. Blessings

44 thoughts on “Mother πŸ’–

  1. Wow! Thank you Aladin for your kind, compassionate words and good wishes. Yes, my heart was taken apart too, so I picked up my pen three days later and wrote a new poem. What else can a poet do in such sad, strange times but write a poem in honour of their poetry-loving mother?!

    It was lovely to read about your relationship with your beautiful mother and how, in hindsight you recognise the essential stage of life you were in, during the year of her death. Well, I’m pleased that my post nudged you, and others I guess, into remembering the sad passing of your mother.

    Oh, I loved this line, β€œCarrying you to the dawn / of eternal burstings and blossomings” Just beautiful. Deep sigh! Am listening to β€œBohemia Rhapsody” as I type, hot tears fall. I absolutely love this song! A perfect choice for this post as Forough’s poem and Freddie singing fit well together.

    Hopefully all will go to plan and you’ll get to have your Baltic break next week. Thank you once again for your love and friendship. A thousand blessings and then a thousand more! Love, Deborah.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Dearest Deborah, you are always completing me with your kind comments. I must thank you for giving me that necessary feeling to write this memory and having my deep dive into my past with my lovely mother. I noticed that you might know Forough, she’s a great poet. I take your words lingering in my heart and mind. Thank you my love, more and ever more πŸ™πŸ₯°β€

      Liked by 1 person

  2. elainemansfield

    We will never forget them. Thank you, Aladin. I’m so glad Deborah’s experience inspired you to turn within and remember a hard time. It hurts to remember our mothers and face our own failings–at least that’s true for me. My father died when my mom was 44 and she wanted to live and not mother. It took me many years to understand her need, but we had time at the end of her life to make a deep heart connection. I’m grateful for that. Without our mothers, we wouldn’t be.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Wow, Your mother’s feelings were so similar to mine. I think that was the time in which the women had begun to find their own desires. And you are absolutely right; without mothers, we’d not be there, and how grateful we can be with keeping their memories.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Your mother was a very beautiful looking person. I suppose this is shallow of me to say, but her physical beauty does not escape me.
    Her death was unfortunately timed.
    The poem is wonderful!
    Thank you!

    Liked by 2 people

    • It’s not shallow what you say! It’s well said and I can just follow you πŸ™πŸ€— I thank you, dear Resa, for dropping by and potting your kind words. I am already at the Baltic Sea to spend a few days, and hopefully the weather doesn’t play too crazy πŸ™ƒ πŸ€ͺ have a wonderful weekend πŸŒΊπŸ™β€πŸŒΉ

      Liked by 1 person

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