But Mother

By : Hadi

 

But Mother

What if you die?

Today or tomorrow

Leaving behind your stories

Ending up in second hand bookshops

Or resonating with the tobacco smokes of us ‘men’. . . Once a year.

And my Dearest

What of your wrinkles:

The soul witnesses of your ‘life’.

Burying under the earth.

As if they never existed,

As if you never suffered.

But my Old Lady

What if you live forever?

With more and more wrinkles

On your dimming face,

In proportion to your lost battles. . .

No! It is not wise. YOU MUST DIE.

And let us ‘men’ celebrate you. . . Once a year.

 

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