Mother Does As Mother Should.

Mother Earth,
Your soil is clawed away
by large, greedy hands
that dig until it is exhausted,
with nothing left to be snatched away from it;
it is choked with venom
until a bile rises within it
that leaves a residual stench of death,
a reflection of its incapability
to facilitate life again.
The water of your womb is poisoned
to murder your children,
the disdain makes you shudder with grief
but you can make no protests.

Oh, mother, you give life
at the cost of your own abysmal death,
and though your dignity is ripped to shreds,
in spite of being choked
and beaten black and blue,
you suffer a silent trauma
and smile with a welcoming warmth
like a mother should.

Motherland.
Your name is upheld
with a disgusting reverence,
like a goddess
whose coasts are the curves of her waist
and whose mountains are breasts
that provide pure liquids
to nurture her children,
whose thighs harbour bays
meant solely to be used
and abused
by those who own the rights
to their privileges.
You have been dragged through rivers
that momentarily drown you,
and mountains that pelt you with stones;
you have been torn to shreds, in conflict
and your heart is hoisted high on a pole,
bleeding colors of loyalty and patriotism.

Oh, mother, you have been mauled
by those whose hands are stained
with bloody fortunes,
your forehead is smeared with mud
which proclaims your stature-
to be one who bows down
in acceptance and duty,
with an unending affection,
like a mother should.

Mother,
your wounds are pierced
before they can heal,
your broken limbs are bandaged
with a clumsy inefficiency
which leaves them infected,
for there is nobody who cares enough
to put in the effort required
to effectively treat your ailments.

You are raped by your protectors
who leave your skin covered
in blood and bruises,
laughing at how easy it was
to rob your innocence,
with no consequence.

Your mere life is a constant struggle,
every breath is a battle
and every movement
makes the chains that bind you
cut deeper into your skin;
you cannot swallow
for your throat is held in a deathly grasp,
and should you ever attempt
to even whisper in protest,
your voice will be silenced.

Your helplessness is evident,
even to the blind;
even the deaf can hear
your silent cries for help;
but you continue to smile,
to nurture
and provide,
you continue your constant,
inevitable, selfless self-sacrifice,
like a mother should.

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