I drift away from myself
Will I be there when she arrives in time?
Will I be there when my mother starts opening
Her sick eyes and says: "It is you, my boy?"
Will I be there fully of myself and fill with lies
To say at least: "I'm sorry, Ma! I came late!"
And when our body meets, and when our eyes
Try to explain every detail at each one to see
What is going on, and to comprehend what has happened
During those years, could I be able to alter them
And be wise enough to be beautiful in front of her
And give her a last devotion from a grown man?
Will I be there when my luck cannot go ahead to fight
The brave waves that have been coming up from the River
With such physical pain to tell me: “I do not want to go further anymore!"
Do I have then the time, I ask you, naive soul,
To say: "Mother I'm commanding you not love me as a son!
I'm commanding you not bless me with a forgiven kiss!
I'm commanding you, o Mother! To let me die next to the frail bosom of yours!
But will I be there on time when she arrives in tears
Although it is going to give me strength to say: "Why is this
It is that my real answer to judge between love and Mother's Love...
It is that my virtue to make any difference from her tenders breast.
It is that my long, long absence should be like this blind my heart is set up
And keep from you!
Even though my joy is dead, even though my privation inner
Thought is empty, and even though my arrival has been denied,
And even though my way still far away...! Anyhow will I be there, you, God, tell me,
If I can trust her silence before dawn and go to that high and motionless place,
Kneel down there, and kiss at least her last breath...!
Will you let me at least to do just that...?
Copyright © George Zamalea