I looked into the face of my late mother,
and from her pure, placable eyes
I saw the light
from the paradise hearth.
I am kneeling beside her deathbed,
ardently looking at the sky, praying to the
to lend its wings to the soul that fell asleep,
so it would
fly into the sky, too.
But the coffin is closing,
and the night wind, a sullen and very austere
wakes in his watchtower,
as if tending to a hungry death.
I held my hand upon her heart,
and a silent tear slid onto her
sparkling like the morning dew.
In my chest, my heart is beating so coldly.
In this state, some higher Invisible hand
could have animated me
to set my sight at the
to set my hope at the
where we shall meet.
© Walter William Safar 2010