To My Mother | Teen Ink

To My Mother

April 21, 2024
By withanamm BRONZE, Islamabad, Other
withanamm BRONZE, Islamabad, Other
1 article 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
"All art is at once surface and symbol.
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
Those who read the symbol do so at their peril."
- Wilde


Mother,
if I told you that a young man broke my heart,
would you stitch it back together?
Would you weave with love
the torn pieces of my soul?

Mother,
if I told you that I had let down every promise I made to you,
would you still hold me close?
If I told you that I had defied every boundary
and broken every rule that you raised me with,
would you still want to hear me speak?

Mother,
I am a sea of grief and an ocean of shame today.
I stood so tall and so proud in the face of the world,
having forgotten who put me there.
The world stabbed me,
and I lay bleeding in your arms.
Understand me, mother,
it is not easy to look into your eyes
after having fallen so low in them.

No, mother,
don't call me by my name.
I am not her! I am not your daughter!
I am just a forlorn creature,
tangled in my own shortcomings.
You did not birth this, mother!
How could you—so holy—have birthed
so monstrous a being, so corrupt a creature?


If father were to find out the sorrows
that I have burdened you with,
he would never speak to me again.

But I cry to you, mother, and to you only
The only home that my banished soul has known
is in your arms.
I know you worry
but do not insist on me further.
I cannot tell you what displeases me.
I cannot tell you why I cry.
It is only the veil of secrecy that binds us, mother
for if it were to be lifted,
you would never look at me again.
I am scared of my hideous truths being revealed to you.


Remember how,
as a child,
you taught me to stay away from wicked and merciless people?
How do I stay away from myself, mother?
Teach me again.

No, no! My dear mother, don't cry!
Don't weep!
All the pain in my heart
cannot account for a single tear
that detaches from your eye.
Fine! I will tell you.

When I went out to the world
to build myself a life,
it greeted me with open arms.
I was deluded when I thought that it was inviting me
into an embrace.
I was a fool, mother.
The world had opened its arms to strangle me!
It strangled me, mother.
The world threatened me
that if I wanted to live,
I would have to live with its ways
The world taught me lies and deceit.
It took morality out of my bare hands and ripped it into pieces.


Look at my hands, mother, look!
They wail.
They curse me for all I put them through.
Every inch of my being condemns me!


Birth me again, mother!
Give me another life!
This one, I have failed to live.


The author's comments:

Anam A. is a 19-year-old-writer from Islamabad, Pakistan.

Her writing is more than just words; it's a quilt of emotions, carefully stitched to reveal her soul. With the eyes of youth, she captures life's ups and downs, from the joy of fleeting moments to the lingering ache of heartbreak.

She has won a National Gold Medal in creative writing and has been recognized on multiple platforms.

Anam's prose is a tender offering from her heart, an intimate invitation for readers to feel and ponder, creating a bond that lingers beyond the page.


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