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The word about mother Печать Email

Lula Kuni



It’s a Sunny, mild  word, delicate like a flower petals in the forgotten Garden of Childhood...

The older we become, the more vivid colors of our Childhood.

Our memories become louder.


Our feelings of something irretrievably lost become bitter.

The tears of a Woman, which was the first who applicant hand to us in this World become  purer.

And in our ageing heart her image becomes lighter.

Let be Blessed the Human’s  Mother...

Woman who saw our first smile, who caught our first breath, who dried our first tears, who sang to us the first song of the fairy-tale world, which we are looking for then all our life, just knowing that the world over the seven mountains exists…

Somehow, in the time of troubles of adolescence, I had a dream: some Man sat on the hill, at his feet my mother sat, and somewhere at the bottom, whether at the feet of them, whether at the base of something (because they both were large) – I, stupid kid, sat. Someone did dolls and gave them to my mother. My mother in turn, immediately to hand them over to me. I don't know whether to impatience, whether of the eternal human curiosity, but I reached for the doll to him (in his face I didn't dare look at)...

Someone angry shake of his head... and handed doll, for which I reached out, to my mother.

I woke up with a sense of burning shame, inexcusable guilt and timidity from the discovery of some of the secrets of the universe...

I could not tell about this dream to my Mom.

But  the whole of life  there is some sense of indicated above, the vibrant distance, when the mother is beyond our human weakness, when she is for me, her child  remains infallible even in the little things, for it is dedicated to the mystery, which I just inherit from hers.

Let be Blessed our mothers.

They are the first supported us, when we made the first step on the firmament.

They are the ones who, even in the time of our earthly maturity, can’t sleep at night, until dawn rays of the great sun praying the Merciful one of a better life for us, their children. Because we, even old, stay for them small and irrational, and that they should hold a hand on the roads of the world, to God.

Let be Blessed the mothers of countless tribes and Nations of the earth, loving us, their children not for something, but only for what we exist.

The light of you, dear...



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