Cradled in the dust
Almost
Almost amongst a cobweb
My mother’s last
Hair-comb
The white hair
I kissed
On my knees
I feel
And my hands trembled
I will not exchange
I will not exchange
Mother in the dust
Others more aged
Still
Breathe and live and smile
But
Your face red
And
Lips of red
With tears
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem