By Rea Kaur

hum bhool gaye har baat magar tera pyar nahin boule.
we forgot everything, but we never forget your love.

she forgot how to rest.
forgot the sound of her own name
before it became someone’s mother.
forgot the girl with long braided hair
who first felt the weight of femininity
settle into her body like a season
that never fully left.

hum bhool gaya har baat.
she forgot everything.

but she never forgot how to love you.

absence is a form of silence
we don’t long for
but make space for in our bodies
long after it becomes
a spirit of its own.

it goes unnoticed
because it blends with her living form.
suppresses who she really is.
what instincts power her fully.

mothers are two threads pulled tight inside
absence and femininity
knotting the gaps they left unopened for years.

while age slows them,
the knots form webs
that inherit the spaces
absence has lived on its own.

mothers live in that.

the spirit they never got to remove.
the silence they never got to break.

bhed na dil ne khole.
the heart never revealed its secrets.

some flower buds open open.

not even with sunlight. water. love.

they stay closed
because the world inside
Is safe enough
to give the darkness fully.

the flower has texture. colour. delicacy.
but the softness of absence remains
like silence in the form of petals.

mothers don’t just carry the closed bud.
they live the flower life
and the sealed bud at once.

and the world looks at it
like patience. peace. fulfilment.

but the truth

mothers are the stem.

they live femininity young.
but softness doesn’t calm them.
it shapes them into the woman
a father can never fulfil.
even in presence.

mothers aren’t the embodiment of love.

they are the stem
looking to be fertile soil
to grow.

years of silence became a spirit
she forgot she carried.
all through life.

they carry a type of exhaustion
they wish was love.

but their inner girl
bachpan ki sathi ( childhood companion )
is still the one with braided hair
who first whispered to herself:

I am a woman of my own.

they miss their mother’s real love.

the hands that held them close
to the space they grew up in
but left for what they were told
would be a better life.

toone chhod diya re mera hato.
you let go of my hand.

they became the man
in order to survive.
in strength. In power.
in keeping everything standing
while their own body asked to sit down.

yet no one speaks
of how they yearn.

for softness.
for love that holds without pain.
for a voice that understands
the unspoken truth they’ve carried
since before you knew their name.

muhu se kuch na bole.
the lips never spoke.

many lost their bodies while growing up.
many became a second mother
while still learning
how to live inside their own.

the unspoken pain they carry
of love that hasn’t seen them
the way we speak of it now.

the inner girl
that never got to try
everything we hold so easily today.

the heart’s weight we pour into them
that they silently talk to
when the house goes quiet.

the mother they miss

whose scent kept their name
closer than ours ever was.

the bodies they changed
to become the warrior for us.

the I’ll give you everything I didn’t have.
but I see you live through it.

mothers are the generation
they never lived.
only survived.

kya kya hua dil ke saath
what all happened to the heart.

exhaustion is the eyes they carry.
silence is the body they age from.
and the unspoken emotions
they sit with before sleep
alone, in the dark
are the ones no husband
or family
would ever fully understand.

duniya ne kahi so baat.
the world said a hundred things.
but she kept every truth
folded inside her chest.

they did everything
to keep their own mothers proud.
yet no one saw.
no one asked
what they wished they’d lived
before they changed
their source of petals.

their skin ages gracefully.
the hair turns memories
into white nostalgic light.
the hands become veiny
for the years they worked
to be better for themselves first.

and the young, fresh beauty they had
slowly fades
like fine petals
that hold colour
but soften. gently. by time.

they hold you fully
when no one held them.

they love you
till you stop questioning love
from anyone else.

they know the womb of your heart
before someone discovers their own.

the spirit they carry
is a knot they live with forever.

but the absence they merged with
to give you a life better than theirs
is the epitome of femininity.

hum bhool gaye har baat.

she forgot her rest.
forgot her name.
forgot the girl she was.
forgot how to ask.
forgot what it felt like
to be held without holding back.

magar tera pyar nahin boule.

but she never forgot how to love you.

so when you sit with your mother.
or love her fully.

remember

she is a woman
that generations carried
but never noticed.

she aged gracefully
but still holds the beauty of the rose.

she is everything you are now
without the unspoken trauma
you’ll never have to name.

maybe she never communicated fully.
maybe she didn’t always hear you right.

but she felt it all.
and remembered a time
she had walked through the same

hold her hand

so she knows
the silence is now broken by you.

and you will let
the remaining of her life
be the peace she deserves
before she leaves you
to see the world
she quietly built for you.

hum bhool gaye har baat.
magar tera pear nahin bhule.

she forgot everything.
but your love? never.

Photo by Didik Setiawan via Wikimedia Commons, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.

About the Author:

I’m Rea Kaur, an editorial writer, artist, and the founder of reaz.studio, a living archive exploring identity, culture, emotional language, and the stories often left behind. I write from observation, paying close attention to the details people overlook and how they quietly shape the way we remember, belong, and understand ourselves. Whether I’m writing, building campaigns, or creating artwork, I’m always interested in revealing rather than explaining. 

You can find more of my work here:

Website: https://www.reaz.studio

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/reaz.studio

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/reakaur