Baby Poem by Moahammad Maleki
Baby
The baby in his wrappings cried out
As if wind blowing in gusts
Or river overflowing in upheavels
His mother is dead
Her burial was yesterday night
In the church, when the priest beatified her
Then she lied on her coffin without tribulation nor pain
The baby is criying without of halt nor cease
He calls his mother in vain
She is dead.
Thursday, April 13, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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4/25/2024 12:51:20 PM # 1.0.0.1119
