It is the mothers

It is the mothers who never stop crying.

The tears flow from one generation into the next and bleed new life into being. Hopes and dreams, gratitudes and fears pour from mothers’ eyes, gracing milk covered cheeks. First steps are taken and drops of love and pride wet the footsteps left behind.

The mothers stand on both sides of the river holding babes in arms and in hearts. Prayers stream out. Be safe. Grow strong. Do not be killed. Do not kill. The tears fall more urgently for some.

It is the mothers who never stop crying.

It is the mothers who rock their little ones, wondering, “what if it had been mine?” Their tears water the flowers that burst up from the graves. Their tears salt the oceans that wash ashore on foreign lands.

The tears are the same, though the faces unfamiliar and unlike our own. It is the universal language of motherhood, spoken with the eyes. In every land, scraped knee children press their tear stroked cheeks into their mothers’ chests. The tears are absorbed and released at graduations and weddings, bedsides and hospitals.

It is the mothers who never stop crying.

Mothers hide the tears that fall silently in the footprints of children walking continents to safety. They hide the tears as sons and daughters go off to school and off to war. The tears stream down, carving new and greater caverns to cross.

It is the mothers who never stop crying.

The rivers flow to far reaches and past every end. They preside over death and life, hope and fear. They are our prayers without words. The tears form an ocean, and the mothers beg us to lay deep an anchor and calm the storm.

It is the the mothers who never stop crying.

It is their tears that flow through us all.

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