It was matter of fact
That your name came into conversation
The other day concerning the tragic news
Of your passing away:
'Do you remember D-? '
You, who three weeks ago
Lifted your hand against
Your very own breast,
The same breast given
For a son you cherished-
Who, in growing,
Would never break your heart.
You made sure of that.
Why then are we inadequate
To explain your leaving, my dear?
You, who wore smiles strung upon a thread,
Until the last slipped for fear
In thinking that even grown children
Can run away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem