Sister was dying
you looked on in disbelief,
late afternoon.
you always mourned this way.
Drinking from your coffee cup
I drank that which gave you life,
and felt inside you,
my sister die.
And I knew
this moment would leave me,
as well would you
follow closely behind it-
departing from this cell of sorrow.
So closer I clung
the waning voice of the clock,
hugging his hours tightly with shallow prayers:
“Dear God allow me to remember, even these,
the hurtful years”
Then asked you
in simple terms
with a tongue only half grown
but a heart that was forged
by centuries of pain
“ is Christ yet alive?
and have we any proof that
still He lives? ”
But you replied, as all Mothers do:
“ mind yourself child, who are you to ask for proof? ”
“ Yes Mother, I apologize,
but still I wish to know
for I will bring petals to His tomb,
in significance of my heart that weeps,
the flower born of your womb,
for I know that part of you will depart
when and where He leaves '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem