Apr 2, 2025
Reading Time: < 1 minute
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My Mother’s Religion
- This heartfelt poem reflects the lens with which a daughter sees her mother’s religion.
- It reflects the warmth of her mother’s gentle and nurturing faith, which contrasts with rigid traditions, presenting a vision of belief that embraces kindness, curiosity and joy.
My mother’s religion was different from Instagram Scholars.
In her religion, we had places to play.
Time to watch movies.
Read comics.
Write about dragons and fairies.
In my mother’s religion,
Hell didn’t greet us every time we did wrong.
She never used the word ‘allowed. ’
Under her watch, not surveillance,
We sang songs,
Danced in our own little rooms,
Giggling with the secrets she asked we keep from our father.
In my mother’s religion,
Violence was never the answer to blasphemy.
It just didn’t exist.
It was an outcast- praised by my mother’s neighbours,
But shunned at her doorstep.
In my mother’s religion,
Reason and faith went hand in hand.
Both needed each other to survive
The curiosity we had for God.
I am happy to say,
I was taught my mother’s religion.
In a God that didn’t hate other groups,
In a paradise that could be made with blood, sweat, and smiles,
And in her humming prayers,
where heroes and villains became humans
Who were lost, but
not
a lost cause.
