My Mother Poem by Aimanu B. Ali

My mother,
she is lying there,
on her bed.
She seems to fade
from my sight
in the failing daylight.
A residue of what used to be her.
No trace of vigour
in her once lustrous
and proud eyes
now gazing at the ceiling blankly
or observing every face in the room wearily
as if searching for the glory
of her once happy realm, now a history.

The once so dauntless spirit
she commanded from all love and respect.
But the woman on the bed
indifferent to the whole world,
she seems to be a stranger,
a shadow of my mother.
My vision is now blurred,
in my eyes an ocean of tears have gathered
drowning my ma, the whole room in it
till nothing exist
except her occasional rambling
or the lips still mumbling
the name of her god with reverence
while my heart weeps in silence.