Mothers and Monks

[Charles]

How many poems
have mothers sighed to You
from their beds of labor
when the pain subsides?

And what words do monks find
evenings in August
when lying on their pallets of straw
while outside
the hay lies drying in the fields?


Source

[anuradha]

What a gentle, contemplative piece. It beautifully ties together two very different forms of devotion—one born from labor and life, the other from solitude and silence. Mothers offer prayers in moments of both pain and wonder, while monks whisper their own quiet reflections to the night. Both speak to the same presence, each in their own language. Your poem feels like a reminder that spirituality lives not just in holy places, but in everyday moments of humanity and stillness.