Did you call me – Mother?
Your voice dry,
your hands callused
and bruised
from winters past.
Do you need me – Mother?
Your joints weak,
your muscles taut
and worn
from scorching skies.
Do you see hope – Mother?
I see your skin in the light,
so dry and so dark.
It has burned from hours
in the midnight sun, heaving
and hoeing for the sake of
your child; your son.
Have you lived – Mother?
Your life has been
spent digging through
dirt and heaving your
hoe and bruising your
hands and straining your
muscles; leaving your
body tired and frail and
your mind drained and
your callused hands
shaking in the winter air,
reaching for help.
Did he answer – Mother?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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