Dear Mother
Father said I was two and a half to three. I'm not sure.
A serious illness, he said, which no doctor could cure.
Glance at your mom last time, dad seemed to have said, full of tears.
I was in my childish unconsciousness. I had no fears.
I did not cry. I didn't know the grim games of death, then.
It's call of the unknown. Unknowingly, I said, Amen.
A glimpse of your grave and coffin clings to my being still.
Could snatching a mother from a child be the divine will?
Though it's not very long, long enough, by you, I was fed.
Embracing you, I slept angelically on your bed.
You taught me the sign of the cross and thoughts of holiness.
How much I miss your gestures of tender motherliness!
I don't complain now. I rain my love on you like flowers.
Seated in heaven, you shower on me divine powers.
I feel you holding my hand and leading me as I walk.
Each morning, as with God, with you, I never fail to talk.
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