LUCKY EVER BE 

Heavy a load, poverty, upon the shoulders. 

Alone and lonely-of-man she lived; 

….years and years…. 

Lone, in total, she was not. 

Hung from her apron she had 

And from her neck, as stones, 

Five young children. 

Children bare of foot; 

Flimsy and patched of clothes; 

Bare of sustenance, 

But, to sustain must. 

Children who sought tomorrow 

By reality unseen; 

Only in dreams hopeful. 

Poverty ruled the hearth and land; 

Poverty, heartless an emperor; 

Cruel a master over man. 

And then and there 

(As if a victim of some curse) 

Under the shadows she lived 

Of dark and cruel vultures; 

Fears that tore at the heart 

Soul destroying depression. 

And thus she lived and suffered; 

Hapless, forgotten and alone 

Except for those children. 

But then and there, 

Laughter and orders, still, 

The young, from her, could hear. 

Laughter that hopes seeded; 

Orders that actions planned. 

“Better to be as men; 

Better than others. 

Earn her respect, to do and must! 

Proud to be for their actions. 

Special as humans on this land – in others’ eyes; 

Special in eyes of a god! 

Of what to come be not afraid! 

Great shall be who thinks in similar a vein!” 

And thereat, before her eyes, 

Proud shall ever stand the five little parts 

The parts of her existence. 

But then and there, 

The loneliness she would bury 

In deep furrows of earth 

The earth she dug and tended. 

Trees and plants upon her laughter thrived; 

Fruits to her labour to give; 

Food for the little five. 

But still and then, 

Fears descended in the dark; 

Fears of hunger and of death; 

Fears for her and those children. 

Protection they had but none. 

But still and then, 

She fought and cried; 

Cried and fought…. many a day. 

The soil tended and worked….many a day. 

Ever and on she fought and cried….ever and on…. 

The soil drenched in her sweat; 

Her pillow in tears. 

But still and there, 

To keep going she had; 

Feed the little mouths; 

Guide them on to better things; 

Light to shed upon the books 

She so hungered for; 

For them to learn to read; 

To read, thus to learn. 

Passion for learning she had much. 

Much she had hoped they learn. 

But blind still herself remained 

To write-read she could not. 

And then and there, 

The little children read the books; 

next to her – 

stooped upon the earth, 

tending the life-giving soil. 

Open the books, kept in the hand; 

Open to futures yet unsure. 

And thereby, 

Much they read. 

Much they saw in those books, 

The books of pure magic. 

Horizons of rainbows before them stretched, 

As far the eye of the soul as could and couldn’t see. 

Vistas of magic they saw; mystical vistas. 

And therefrom, 

The love of learning grew; 

It grew and blossomed in them all. 

Special a legacy from her 

the poor, hapless mother. 

And on and on the years passed; 

Years of pain and of hardship. 

Years that left the scars 

(scars of the sufferings she had). 

Years that gave birth to lust for books and learning 

In five little hearts. 

And therefrom 

as if a blessing – 

Books in abundance they had 

the books the mother so asked; 

The books she paid for in blood. 

The sight She could never have. 

And thereat and still, 

In poverty remained; 

Forgotten by fortune; 

Abandoned by man. 

Rising, helpless, every day, 

Before the sun would so do, 

Animals tended as if humans 

To whom her miseries would tell. 

Choking fears – as a vice around heart and thoughts. 

Her shadow for company she had 

Through timeless long days. 

In darkness, shadows would flood the heart in sheer terror. 

But still and on, 

As “Leonidas” she fought 

The fates and the wrongs. 

Praying fervently to God her children to protect. 

None she would ask for her 

from man or God. 

Mother she was. 

And so be. 

For ever so be. 

And then and there, 

As if a man of strength and might, 

Many decisions, 

Many a day, 

Ever she faced, 

Ever she made. 

Ignorance veiled thoughts and mind 

none she attended school at all. 

Blind to magic vistas; the vistas of the books. 

But then again, 

Lucky in nature should be 

Inborn to have seldomly seen spirit. 

Spirit that lit the darkness up. 

Spirit that painted in blue horizons ahead. 

Spirit she shared as a gift among her little children. 

Priceless talent for the young. 

And I, lucky ever be! 

Her I have as mother. 

*****penned 16/7/1995 in Sydney. Honouring an amazing mother. 

Whenever we discussed those endless years of constant struggle she would point out to me that the great majority of mums would do, behave and act just like she did. She would say: “Peter, once a mother, always a mother – no matter ethnicity, religion”. She reckoned that the bond between mother and child would be the strongest bond between humans and all living beings (animals, birds, sea creatures etc). I do realise that what my mother went through to bring up five kids on her own and accomplish “far-away dreams” has been done and is constantly done by countless mothers throughout this planet. Therefor this poem is also dedicated to all those nameless mothers; may their efforts bear fruit. 

Πανικος της Εφτυχους (Panikos the son of Eftychia) / Peter Savvides. 

The downloadable version of the poem is below. This poem must not be sold in any form, and copyright remains with the author, Peter Savvides.