My Mother 1-volume

1. I received from my kind mother, Her care, her tender and compassionate heart. She sheltered us warmly in the cold, Shielding us from storms with her embrace. She would cry out, defending us in the crowd, Protecting her chicks, even in the fire's shroud. Offering us the sweetest part of her meal, While she took only what was left to feel. Children learn from their parents' ways, Watching them closely throughout their days. I owe you forever, dear mother of mine, For saving me from death countless times. Since my youth, barefoot across the plain, I endured hardships, faced hunger and pain. You tracked and found your wandering child, When I was near death, lost in the wild. At that time, I was a six-year-old, With a mind immature, hardly bold. One day, with a child’s eager heart, I leapt at the chance to play my part. Mother said: "Go check on the sheep, bring them back, If they’re there, guide them along the track." Overjoyed, I ran with a wide smile, Feeling proud to help, even for a while. Such joy didn’t come every day, For a child, running was never a delay. I climbed the hill, scanned the watering hole, But no sheep were there, not a single soul. We’d been to the "Torenketken" sands before, That memory struck, as I thought once more: "Maybe they’ve wandered in that direction," An idea that stirred my heart’s connection. Off I dashed like the wind, racing fast, Kicking up fine sand as I rushed past. But soon the sun’s unyielding heat, Slowed my pace and burned my feet. Still, I pressed on, driven by pride, Ignoring the ache and the tears inside. Through shimmering mirages, I pushed my way, Reaching a hollow, near the end of the day. But what use was reaching, half-dead and spent? False hope had led me wherever I went. I sobbed with regret, alone and confused, The sheep I sought were a vision I’d misused. Turning back became a struggle and pain, Thirst dried my throat and weakened my frame. When the heat caused my head to reel, The world faded to nothing—I could no longer feel.