Fary Ghavam Poet Free verse

Voice

Voice
It was the voice of a mother's last farewell,
her sobbing
woven through the final tears she was bound to shed.
She had to rise, and go once more to the child's bedside —
for the last time,
for the last time to be mother.
Those eyes, which had carried upon their shoulders every flicker of hope for living,
and had given that hope its meaning —
no light remained now to make sense of the world for her.
The voice
told her: say your farewell.
And it departed.
A mother was left behind, with a thousand roads unwalked,
roads born of longing for her child.
She arrived at the threshold of parting,
where all the suffering of a lifetime was mocked in a single instant.
Trembling beside the bed,
her gaze quarreled with the child now setting out on his journey —
departing without her leave.
For the last time, she had to remain his companion.
So she sat, and kissed his cheek.
Whatever tears still remained in her
became the last provisions she carried, to moisten the child's lips.
And she laid a hand upon his heart —
in memory of the heart that had once beheld her within it,
that had stolen the mother's very soul.
The last farewell. The last gaze.
Tears too weary to remain upon a mother's face.
She gave him all that she had of motherhood —
once more, it was she who gave,
and she who went away.
A trembling hand upon a heart brimming with silence.
And then — it was finished.

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