When winds of life blow through my mind, causing memories
and images to flap in the breeze, I remember with love
the life of my mother.
Her story of life has ended, we have only pieces and
fragments that each of us remember.
Her journey is at an end, but ours must continue whether
or not we're ready for it.
Days are way too long, nights are much blacker than ever
before.
Reaching out, we find only ourselves to hold on to, there
are no more connections or reasons for doing anything, we
just exist until our individual ends.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem