Happy Mother’s Day 2020: Here are some poems to share with your mom this Mother’s Day – art and culture

The second Sunday of May is celebrated as Mother’s Day in India, and this year it falls on May 10. Mother’s Day is a celebration of mothers all around the world, although it is celebrated on different days in different parts of the world. While the current lockdown situation in India on account of the coronavirus pandemic may make celebrations a trying affair, whether you are holed up with your mother or far away in a different city, there is still a way to make this Mother’s Day special. From Sylvia Plath to Maya Angelou, here are excerpts from some of the most insightful and tear-jerking poems of all times to share with your mother this Mother’s Day 2020. Read on:

Mother, a Cradle to Hold Me by Maya Angelou

“It is true

I was created in you.

It is also true

That you were created for me.

I owned your voice.

It was shaped and tuned to soothe me.

Your arms were moulded

Into a cradle to hold me, to rock me.

The scent of your body was the air

Perfumed for me to breathe.


During those early, dearest days

I did not dream that you had

A large life which included me,

For I had a life

Which was only you.

Mother, I have learned enough now

To know I have learned nearly nothing.

On this day

When mothers are being honoured,

Let me thank you

That my selfishness, ignorance, and mockery

Did not bring you to

Discard me like a broken doll

Which had lost its favour.

I thank you that

You still find something in me

To cherish, to admire and to love.

I thank you, Mother.

I love you.”

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To My Mother by Edgar Allan Poe

Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,

The angels, whispering to one another,

Can find, among their burning terms of love,

None so devotional as that of “Mother,”

Therefore by that dear name, I long have called you—

You who are more than mother unto me,

And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you

In setting my Virginia’s spirit free.

My mother—my own mother, who died early,

Was but the mother of myself; but you

Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,

And thus are dearer than the mother I knew

By that infinity with which my wife

Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.

Mother O’ Mine by Rudyard Kipling

If I were hanged on the highest hill,

Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!

I know whose love would follow me still,

Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!

If I were drowned in the deepest sea,

Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!

I know whose tears would come down to me,

Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!

If I were damned of body and soul,

I know whose prayers would make me whole,

Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!

Morning Song by Sylvia Plath

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.

The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry

Took its place among the elements.

Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.

In a drafty museum, your nakedness

Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.

I’m no more your mother

Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow

Effacement at the wind’s hand.

All night your moth-breath

Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:

A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral

In my Victorian nightgown.

Your mouth opens clean as a cat’s. The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try

Your handful of notes;

The clear vowels rise like balloons.

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