Ode to Mother of Sophia

Emama
You raise a boy
But when he’s grown
He becomes gashe
The familiar replaced with the formal
Was it out of respect or duty?
Senior calling a junior
What in normal circumstances
A junior would call a senior
But class before age
Yes, here status is everything

So you lose your name
Dubbed mother of your daughter
Who swam to warmer waters
Only to return so cold

As we remember
And perhaps regret
Every instance
We brushed off your warmth
We are reminded,
That you too,
Like Sophia
Are now so cold.

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