Much work I have to do - these gifts need wrapping;
Bright ornaments to hang on this old tree,
But guilt raises its whip - I feel it snapping:
The horror Christmas eve holds over me.
An envious uneasiness has found me,
As yearning I prepare for evening's meal.
How much I could forget, the night reminds me,
Such emptiness no son should ever feel.
This eve I've held the darkest apparition,
Much like disquiet scratching through my mind,
But little will I ponder my condition,
Preferring to keep weeping far behind.
The dead don't celebrate with one another,
But Christmas is not Christmas without mother.
-December 23,2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A sweet poem dedicated to your mum. It is hard at christmas, for folk like us who have lost someone we love. Your poem shows strength, which is what we need to overcome the feelings of distress at their loss. I went to a Christingle Service and put a star on a tree, it really helped a lot. 10 from Tai, wishing you all the best for christmas and the new year.