You were molded from somber and euphoric lullabies; sounds of my laughter and love poured into the crevices of your broken soul caused by the cacophonous sin of parental toxicity.
Time, where have you gone?
Why has Cronos selfishly passed the time so rapidly,
quicker than my cognition can fathom?
Is this what true mothers feel like when their children grow up?
1. Cronos vs Athena
I can feel his neediness slipping through my fingers, like an ice cube melting away on my
calloused fingertips on a hot summer’s day. You no longer need your soldier to cover your ears from our birth giver and absent fathers filth that evaporates into thin air, for you have a phone now to help you tune out the world. I still automatically run to the kitchen to prepare your lunchbox, milky bread with rich and creamy cheese, only to have you retort “I’m old enough to pack my own lunch”, then resume to tying your shoe laces just the way I taught you
Dragon goes under the bridge,
the faucet is opened
through the loop,
the pressure builds up
then finally, into the castle.
The water is released…
I quickly wipe away my tears, for I have been your archetype, your prime symbol of strength for seven long years. Bidding you farewell every morning on your school bus-
we go to separate schools
–tears the strings that bind my heart together to a million pieces. It equates to the great
evacuation in World War II, because I never know when I will see you next throughout the day with our contrasting schedules. Sometimes, the five rapid minutes before the bus are all I have left to secure my sanity that you are in fact, alright…
but no longer need me…
2. Pain and panic- the mortal potion
Google’s definition of a mother is: “bring up (a child) with care and affection, look after
(someone) kindly and protectively.” Birth givers toxicity flowed through her breasts, her milk suffocating me to the very brink of near death.
the milk was poisoned by her toxic concoction of pain and panic.
I guess there is destruction constructed inside every strand of my DNA, hamartia in each of my forty-six pairs of chromosomes, a ravished stomach full of anguish and loads of disarray.
3. Asclepius in disguise
Consequently, grandmother salvaged my wounds, she brought the morphine, antibiotics,
and syringes. Cradling me in the crook of her leathery skin, her smile, that is what I remember most. It was as if her lips sang a euphoric song and her teeth found a way to bring perfect harmonies into the echoes of her lyrics. It was a song I had to sing, that infectious beam, perhaps that is what I will never forget- and that’s how she will live on
her melody will resonate throughout my heart forever.
She would always remind me that my heart was worth one hundred thousand ounces of trojan gold, and that I am beyond irreplaceable no matter what I was told. The ascending pitch elongating their fingers towards my eyelids, shutting them softly as I drift off to a blissful slumber.
the notorious cronos,
how you allowed me to sleep for so long in bliss,
only to be awoken to terror.
For when I woke up,
you were gone,
and I died inside.
Your soul was etched by supernovas, by my zelous lonely prayers
a plea for companionship
-for birth giver knew she was pregnant with you the very day grandma passed away. I identified myself from that day forward as a motherless child, for my mother died that day.
Like Virgin Mary holding Jesus, my pristine self traces the fine threads of hair that swoon
from your tabula rasa, oh how I envied your clean slate. Unique, you did not look like the
standard extra terrestrial like newborns, you were carved by the gods Alastor and Phanes, No detail went unnoticed, your angelic skin radiated a flawless halo glow that represented innocence. This solicitude that binds us forever is evident through my fingers, I clutch onto you for dear life, petrified at the thought of ever letting you go-my beautiful baby boy. I am now, mother. Absent father, just like the filth that condensates from his lips, evaporated into thin air made up of economic molecules that bind the financial stability of this “family”. The scent of vernix caseosa lingered on your forehead needn’t bother me, for I have been inhaling toxic fumes one too many times. My biggest enemy of all in this hostile we both live in, is cronos. For he selfishly steals the day away from me quicker than I can fathom, and the day I knew I was stripped away from my childhood, was the day you looked up at me with those immense eyes, and called me mama.
I am now, mother.
The only gift that birth giver has ever bestowed me, was the honor of naming you. Yousef,
Joseph, he will add. I knew from that day forward, you will add hope into my life, you will add purpose in my life, and most importantly for the sake of my lonely prayers, you will add companionship.
5. Crawling olympics
Cronos skipped chapters, fast forwarding 6 months into the journey. I researched
different methodologies to get you to start crawling. As the imaginative 10 year old mother I was, I elaborated a scheme, a strategic agility crawling course for you composed of plastic building blocks and stuffies. Ladies and gentlemen, gods and goddesses of olympia, welcome to the first ever crawling olympic course! The goal of this course is to allow the baby to learn to crawl by motivating him to reach towards hispaichnídi álogo7! Each one he reaches, leads him warmer to his main prize! On your marks… get set… CRAWL! Yousef slithers across the floor like a baby snake lured towards its prey, he squirms in frustration as the hispaichnídi álogo is in fact far from reach! He wiggles and wriggles and struggles to snuggle with his toy thats so far but so close! Smack slap clap the dark ebony floor echoes as you stretch your hands forward, using all your strength to glide forwards. Forty two seconds on the clock and he is already one glide away from the toy! Yousef cries in frustration! Don’t give up now old sport you got this! Annddddd touchdown! Yousef wallows over the hispaichnídi álogo and he learned to crawl! The crowd goes wild, ahhhhhh! Ahhhhhh! Yousef! Yousef! And that’s all folks, see you in four years! A couple weeks later, you were laying on your belly in our garden, tugging the long, viridescent uncut grass. I was laying the same way, facing you, my calloused fingertips covering my face. Tears form in the windows of your soul, then I shout PEEKABOO and a smile stretches from ear to ear. Repeating the same hand gesture, I say where’s Malak? Then removing my hand, PEEKABOO! You looked at me with those immense eyes, and called me mama.
I am now, mother.
6. Separation anxiety
I stand there, wiping away my tears, and pull you in for a hug. Today is the day I speak to
my counselor about moving to London for university, and as I hug you the heaviness of my future decisions weighs me down, swelling up my ankle. This solicitude that binds us forever is stronger than ever, evident through my fingers, I clutch onto you for dear life, petrified at the thought of ever letting you go-my beautiful baby boy.
don’t take the days away from me now,
let me enjoy the remaining months I have with my son before I step on that plane,
the very plane that will lead me to what my undergraduate journey awaits.
allow the hours to elapse slowly,
let me pour one last batter of laughter and love into the crevices of his heart.
spare me some moments to feel the warmth of his companionship
as we cuddle under this blanket that feels like laying in an egyptian cotton field.
For when I leave,
who will be mother now?
— Svi stavovi i mišljenja izraženi u tekstu su isključivo autorova i ne odražavaju uredničku politiku platforme Hoću.ba. —