A Mother's Tear-Streaked Face Over the Burning Coals
Every mother's prayer calls home
in this hut
morning smoke billows upwards
holes in the door and roof gasp
a mother's tear-streaked face
over the burning coals
empty clay pot
who will provide enough food
today?
Ahead, the wet dust on the paths
it's hard to tell whether it was last night's rain
or a drop of blood
but the remnants of water on the road
and the remnants of light in the vision
seep into the womb
becoming pus and blood.
Children fall asleep listening to stories
now they rub their eyes
to ponder
that there is no more fairyland
no wind
to carry them away
and if they try to stand
their heads hit the black sky
their eyes burn
their hands burn
their stomachs burn
are they roasting themselves?
A voice rises up
is it from the sea?
from the valley?
from the mountains?
from the storm?
from the wailing of many voices?
it continued to soar into the sky,
but in the trees,
the branches
and leaves remained motionless.
Smoke swirled like any other day,
only the mother slowly lifted her face,
tears streaming for a moment,
and the children peeked out again
—and again.
Atambua—Indonesia, July 9, 2026
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
