MOTHERS

Hello,
I have absolutely ZERO idea of how to blog but oh well, practice makes perfect. In the meanwhile I am going to ask you to forgive me for any mistake I know I will make.

Yesterday was mother's day and I spent my hard earned Rs. 150 to give my mother a lovely tea, and a poem. I didn't think the poem was good, I mean by the way my mother reacted and put it up in Facebook you would think that it was better than Keats. However I don't think that my mother's judgement is unbiased so judge it for yourself.

This is after all the blog of a 'Wannabe Writer'.

                       

                       Mother

            Better than sweet heather

             is my dear own mother.

            For when I have a bother

            with a pat on my back

             she tells me what I lack

               with a bright smile

              that can be seen from a mile.

         

              People say that you can't see God,

              well, I call them a fraud.

              Every single blessed day

              [and without any pay]

             Do I see a celestial being

             [Now please no envying ]

            So, Mamma daarling

             just give me a ring.

             I'll get you anything.

             For I very well know

             that you do I awfully owe

            more than the world can offer.

        

          So, call me a duffer

          and make me suffer

           If I don't tell you-

          I LOVE YOU!

 Well, that is it. I do hope you liked it.

 

  'There when you were born,

  there from the very start

  when you pulled a cart.

  With patience did she bear

  Everything she had to hear. 

 With you when you cry

  and even when your eyes are dry.

 Very well do you know

 That she will never leave you

   So not very well do we treat 

 just a bit better than boys in the street.

 But she does have a day

  when she just has to say

 her wish, our command.'

There, now that I think was a spot better. You know I wonder whether anyone will read this. The blog with the poetical musings of a 13 year old.

Guess who gave me the idea to start this. My God Mother. That was what I thoroughly used to believe that my Mother was when I was small. I remember my music sir asking us to talk about our Mother. Everyone started shouting " She cooks for me." "She ties my hair" "She helps me" and so on. I also remember saying "She is my Fairy God Mother" dead silence after that. Then slowly the kids started to laugh and the Sir "Who said that ?". When I lift my hand he tells me, voice full of pity for this deluded child, " Child, your mother cooks, ties your hair, helps and so on. She is not a Fairy."  I remember feeling crushed, dejected and embarassed.  So know I keep it a secret, or kept it, that I think of her as a fairy when I am not angry with her.

You know what the saddest thing is? Our mothers do so much. Yet we shout at them, call them lazy, get angry and so on. I think they deserve medals in the form of our respect and love.

I have to stop. The battery of my laptop is negligible. So adieu, ciao and bye.

Wannabe Writer Super Susan.