november 28th

To whose womb was my soul’s lair

To whose hands are my eternal grip

To whose wishes I hang hopes on being the best of me

You might not be the best mother earth has

And I am twice as far in being an ideal daughter

But to us, let’s toast

For we are the best of us

To whom I adore for looking so beautiful

To whom I timely groan for being too generous

To whom I argue with, cry for

To whom I moan, and love

Love too much but not enough

To whom all my prayers go

To whom all my best wishes address

Happy 40th birthday.

Though, to me, you do not age, ma.