Their songs
Their prayers
Their breathless mutterings into the air, casting away the evil-eye.
To mould our arms, to strengthen our limbs,
to warm our hearts, to light our souls.

Their stories, the solace.
Their struggles, that spirit.
Their resilience, that undettered support breathing into our days strength abound.
Their child’s joy, theirs.
Their child’s wellbeing, theirs.
The child. Them.

The morsels, their embrace, the look, their smile, the home they carry in their arms, Constant, the ever-constant beam holding up our lives.
Mothers. Amma.