As a youth in the 60’s
I was so angry
that she wouldn’t stand up
in her own life.
The world outside
brave and suffering
for its freedom,
its dream, its hope;
defining a new age
while she remained
afraid...
to speak, to fight.
Secretly she lost my respect;
I was ashamed of her weakness.
It would take many years
for me to see
how wrong I was,
how strong she had to be
silently fighting
her battles in her own way;
many of her prayers bouncing
off the ceiling
while her faith in another day
strengthened her resolve
for her children’s futures.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem