Mother

In front did you know
the moment, felt it you may
rustling inside did you hear
that it is me

was it then you started, to weave
rope, completed in time
to the needs on occasion to come

to a rope to pull me into life
with it as quagmire into you
to pull through stressed early years
without sleep, like on tarmac
in a sledge pulling me behind

intertwining  an add-on rope, you did
giving the limits like on a neck of a dog

where did it come the anchor rope
that too did you do
and how had you knowledge
resiliently strict twined

along rebellious years I hid to banes
readily made was, of course
where had you strength to do that too
      and on time to throw
            a safety rope

at last I did find a way with an axe
to cut off our ways
loosen apart rope(s) had become

mine escaping to freedom
thine holding to it's own

diverging ways of two
in the run mine got lost too
in places that even shadows don't shine

lost ropeless crouching cries
no where or strength to go
a way with an axe I  came across
with it writing to stone

MOTHER: do you have rope to home
yes,
always

--------------------------------------

I don't know does this work at all in English (Finnish is a superior language). I thought long  and hard and almost deleted this but egoism or need to share - who knows - decided eventually push the "publish"

I wrote it to my mother on Mother's Day this year since she insisted that I can't waste money on flowers. This one is so personal to me that it's impossible to say how bad or good it really is. I'm blinded by love on this one.