Fathers Day Shayari

How can you know how much you mean to me?
After all the heartache, there is love.
Pierce life, and you are where the angels move,
Praising with their joy the mystery.
You know well the cost of sacrifice,
Mothering the wounded as you bleed,
Opening your anguish to their need,
Taking heed of neither pain nor price.
How you have paid, dear soul, for that abandon!
Even as you've sunk into despair.
Reason has no reason to be there
‘Ere love supply the grace, well-earned or wanton.
So let me show you how you look from here,
Depicted as an icon dearly treasured,
An image of an ecstasy unmeasured,
Yearning with more need than it can bear.

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If I could give my mom the world
Or anything she wanted,
I'd give her my own heart and soul
And leave my own heart haunted.
I'd take upon myself her life
With all its strife and pain,
And let her ease into some space
Where she could live again.
The pain for me would not be pain,
At least not for a while;
For I'd be doing it for her,
And I would see her smile.
I wish that I could take her heart
And cleanse it with my tears,
And make her sorrow go away,
And answer all her fears.
I wish, I wish, but then I can't,
As I watch helplessly,
And take her in my arms and say
I wish that it were me.
But loving is a hard, hard way,
With all the pain it brings.
And yet there is no other way
To touch the heart of things.

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Dear Mother, please don't take away my baby.
I'm young, alone, my husband is in jail.
But there's a wonder in what fortune may be
Given us, though time its wisdom veil.
Please help me be a mother much as you are
By being but a mother once removed,
As I become the daughter that I thus far
Have never been, by love and labor proved.
And let me love as you did my own child,
Making the best of what I wrought in pain;
For once fate leaves, one ought to think it smiled,
Rejoicing in what one would rue in vain.
I would not give my child to another;
I need you now, but only as my mother.

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Happy Mother's Day to my dear Mum,
Author of my personality:
Pleased, I hope, with what you read in me;
Pleased, I hope, with episodes to come.
Yet now I, too, would get some pleasure from
Making you the book in which I see,
Of all the players in my family,
The central character, whom I would plumb.
How beautiful to move in that direction!
Each to each a separate source of pleasure,
Reading in the other's happiness,
‘Mid much description, underlying love.
So would we deepen the connection,
Discovering new passages to treasure
As we follow time towards tenderness,
Yearning for what years unread will prove.

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