Out there, March fields wear daffodils;
Each trembling mouth mimicking
Your nervous, shallow breathing.
In here you're fading, numb with morphine;
Lips are dry and mumbling, gulping
Air in short, fast breaths…How long now?
One hand fits mine, your son, my mother;
This role reversal giving back
Some comfort given as a child.
Nurse senses pain, administers
A larger metered dose; you sigh,
You fly euphoric from it.I ask
If you are there and lift an eyelid;
Your stare elsewhere, unfocused, straight
Ahead.I've seen this when you daydream.
"Mum!Can you hear me? "As I ask
Your hand grips mine; one sudden reflex,
Nothing more, just breathing, breathing…
You're slipping back into a dream,
But one you won't retell or wake from;
Slowly losing thought, like drowning…
Out there, those fields wear daffodils,
Your favourite flower; each trembling mouth
Mimicking your shallow breathing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I, too, have witness my own mother, daydreamingly dosed...and drifting from child's clutching, yet comforting hand. Your write is powerful and poignant. I will continue to explore your poems, anticipating stirred emotions. Well done. I must admit, when I saw your name, I was intrigued, as Neil Young is one of my favorite songwriters. PEACE