Real Silk from Mothers Hand Mother grows mulberry to feed worms, Manaul labour of dedication; She draws silk threads in dreamlike forms To weave the fabric of her creation. Every threads imbued with her spirit, Maternal embroidery of each cloth; Her foot repeats rhythm of heartbeat; Her hand jerks the bobbin back and forth. This new piece of shawl to me she gives With love loomed into every strand; A life of motherly devotion she lives, Links her heart to each shimmering band. I hold up my shawl, mothers gift, Inter-woven of her precious silk, Her brave soul and moral uplift, With the blessing of mothers milk. I can clearly see her delicate hand That she sometimes used to spank one; Single-handedly she will withstand Every danger to defend her son. With this hand she builds lifeltimes work, With no recompense or relief, Then sits at the loom round the clock To labour on this silken kerchief. She has trained her fair daughter To obey the weavers behest And follow her footsteps thereafter; For mothers weary hands must rest. She taught her son to be proud: If you love me, she says, nere relent, Even if they put you in a shroud, To fashion free mens covenant. One day surely I will be gone. You, children, can continue to weave, With mothers silk and childrens yarn, So the old cloth can turn a new leaf.
แปลโดย ม.ล. พีระพงศ์ เกษมศรี อดีตราชเลขาธิการในพระบาทสมเด็จพระเจ้าอยู่หัว พิมพ์รวมเล่มครั้งแรก ตุลาคม 2538 Banana Tree Horse and other poems by B. Kasemsri