Simple - FotoSlovo 2026 - Category « Téléphone Portable »

Holy mothers,

crowned with sleepless nights,

with hunger unspoken,

with silence that bruises the body.

We cradle life,

while no arms cradle us.

We bleed quietly,

we break in sacred darkness.

We carry the weight of life

on our shoulders,

as Mary once carried hers—

feeding, holding, weeping,

her hair pulled by tiny hands,

her breasts aching,

her nights endless for years.

Motherhood is sacred.

But no one builds us chapels.