This is a poem for Reem Ali and her brother Tareq, "the soul of my soul". May they rest in peace.
It is also a poem for mothers whose mothering didn't teach them anything. For mothers who rejoice when they hear the drums of war. For mothers who have chosen othering. For mothers who will never know peace or love. For mothers who break my heart.
It is by design Not by accident That mothering put an m In front of othering When you become a mother You grow to see That m is for Mellowing Mildness Mightiness That m is for The soft "mmm" You hum into your child's ear When you rock them At bedtime The soft "mmm" Reem's grandfather Hummed into her ear When he rocked her At bedtime And when he combed Her brother Tareq's hair The way he liked it Then suddenly The soul of his soul Was gone When you become a mother You have to decide Whether you grew to become The mother of the world Or the mother of ashes
29/11/2023
Illustration by Mikail Çiftçi
https://instagram.com/mikailciftci63
I see what you mean in this poem. I produce a podcast every week, called The Village Oak Tree and it is an activist podcast were I interview other activists of one sort or another or the occasional commentary. Most recently a series of shows on the failing Empire of the United States. I am getting ready for another one in the series next week and I would like your permission to read this poem as a tribute to all of the mothers and children who have been martyred in this genocide in Gaza please.
If you are interested in watching or listening to any previous shows before saying yes, look for Crann na beatha on YouTube for a roster of my previous shows. Or look up The Village Oak Tree in any major podcast mobile app and find it under my name. If you still have trouble finding it, let me know and I will provide a link. If you want to know more about me, visit www.crann-na-beatha.com for more. Sláinte