Our mother is an artist.

With soft hands she rolls dough

Creating a new dish every day

For her children,

Our tastebuds spoiled by her craft

 

Our mother is a poet.

Each sorrow that grazes our hearts

She stitches back together

With her words that know our souls

And her advice that nurtures our minds

 

Our mother is a warrior.

Her eyes are humility

Her arms are protection

Her legs are resilience

Everything about her says honor

 

Jack of all trades,

No reward, no recognition, no glory to be had

We tell her these praises in vain

Only to be told that all mothers love their children the same

But our mother to us is an angel on earth

With Jannah at her feet and harmony in her hands

She guards the kingdom that is her family

Our mother is our mother.

She accepts no further fame.