My Mother’s Motherland
My mother’s motherland is beautiful in my eyes,
Even with the washed-up bottles where the shore lies.
It’s the people, the food, the songs in the air,
The stories untold that still linger there.
Where birds sing freely, and wild things roam
A place adventurers travel far to explore but my family call home.
Yet in fraught irony, there’s bliss in not knowing
That one flight home fuels the harm still growing.
The cost of a holiday, unseen but true
May rob local hands of the crops they once grew.
I was raised in England, skies grey but kind,
I was the first girl in my family
To ride a bike, to climb
To pedal with ease
To follow my path beyond boundaries and seas.
My dida couldn’t as the world told her no.
But her strength runs through me wherever I go.
So I ride, I climb, with her in my stride,
Not just for freedom, but to stand with pride.
To use this privilege not just for me
But to fight for people, land, and legacy.
To protect what she loved, with heart and with hand
Every mother’s story.
Every mother’s motherland.
I hold my head high, with heritage to defend,
Not just mine, there are many we must tend.
Cultures and landscapes on the edge of neglect,
Unless we choose wisely, travel with respect.
The urge to explore must go hand-in-hand
With a duty to cherish both sea and land.
My dad’s a working-class man from the south,
A Cockney-born boy with a salt-of-earth mouth.
Raised in Hastings, he taught me young:
Reuse what you can, fix what’s gone wrong.
Gratitude stitched into everything he wore
Sustainability wasn’t a trend, but much more.
It was survival. It was pride.
It was knowing how to live with less, not hide.
To make do, to mend
Not just a saying, but a call to defend.
Because the planet won’t wait,
And beauty fades fast
When greed moves first
And care comes last.
Every journey we take leaves a mark in the sand
So let’s not trade wonder for a carbon-stained hand.
This isn’t just my fight or yours to withstand
It’s for every mother’s motherland.
From village to valley, from forest to shore,
If we don’t protect it, there’ll be nothing left to explore.
No birdsong at dawn, no stories to tell
Just silence where communities once dwelled.
So tread lighter.
Think deeper.
And travel like you understand
The world is fragile,
And it’s all someone’s motherland.
