Raised with the fire,
Of a self learned woman;
Cradled under the shade,
Of bamboo trees;
Laid on an arched back,
Whilst toiling clay lands;
Don’t mind, when I declare-
I am my mother’s daughter.
Waved off to school,
With hands- worn from milking,
Fed whilst her stomach,
Growled of hunger;
Appeased with a smile stamped,
On a face darkened from wood’s soot;
Don’t mind, when I declare,
I am my mother’s daughter.
Raised her girls to be queens,
In a land ruled by men;
Bore the brute of words,
For demanding education;
Believed- in their strength while
The world tried to break them;
Don’t mind, when I declare,
I am my mother’s daughter.
The beautiful painting above is the artwork of Claudia Tremblay
