Snow Moon

There’s a full moon in the sky.
The world is full of people.
Yet it’s strange how alone we always are.
Only some mothers and daughters at least have each other, I think.

My mother’s suffering hurts me. She says my pain causes her suffering. Together, we ache over the loss of mind that is my father. We would have hurt differently if he were of sound mind still, wealthy, and strong.

We are women. We know these things.

Men have a way of breaking women’s hearts. Even when they try not to. Especially when they try —
to be more manly and guard secrets silently, or make rash promises never to keep them.

My mother is weakened by the men in her life — father, brothers, husband.
Constantly.
She shrinks to the size of a bird.

The only one who values her turns out to be a daughter — a giant amazon, a red-lipped goddess, who has been destroyed by the men in her life — father, cousins, lovers, friends, Hercules all.

Because Mother taught her
only
to love and give, and cook and feed, and smile and forbear, and suffer and shrink.

Not like other survivors who know guile, who know how to hurt others by deeds and words. Only such sorts should be around people, love, marry, live perfect, bejewelled lives. Because they never love enough to be devastated by anyone.

We are women. We know these things.

Even when the daughter teaches her, reclaims her own power, becomes the Goddess she was always meant to be, mother has too much pride to use guile.

So today when the snow moon fills the sky, we look at each other and sigh. We are not martyrs; we deserve no praise nor pity. We are just a mother and daughter who at least have each other. The world is full of people. It is no longer strange how alone we always are.

We are women. We are Goddesses. We know these things.

But somehow our hearts always ache.

About Bhumika's Boudoir

I love to laugh, and end up being a part of high drama and stormy emotion even when I don't pursue it. Being creative, and communicating with people get me going. I enjoy all the good things in life especially those that are slightly risque, and apologise little, if ever, for all that I do. Literature is a passion and so is music.
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3 Responses to Snow Moon

  1. neetsmiss says:

    I am moved to tears. Very beautifully written Bhumika. πŸŒΊπŸŒΊβ€οΈπŸ’•

    Like

  2. neetsmiss says:

    Because they never love enough to be devastated by others….

    Wow…. Masterpiece poem Bhumika

    Like

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