After the Second Child's Death,
There was no more lying;
Prayers could not
Summon one more breath,
A mother's crying;
Out beyond the static void
Was only Space,
Emptiness beckoned
Without a human face,
Gently smiling;
How soundless was the basement
Where she was stored;
Stacked in cabinet shelves
The Doctors called the Morgue.
In death she did not look
Peaceful,
But waxen, bored.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I have read both of these poems, and though they deal with passing they are neither sentimental nor cold. A clear perceptive write.