The Beam of the Moon
This is an ode to a mother who was never mine, yet loved me more than her own.
The gentle stroke of the wind that caresses my hair
only calls to mind your frail hands running through mine.
The sweetness of mangoes recalls your fondness for the fruit.
The hymns of the temple echo your words in my ears.
The smile on a child's face resembles your quiet innocence.
The warmth of a mother whispers another lullaby you once sang for me.
The sea and its waters mirror your tears.
An animal’s kindness bears the mark of your unconditional love towards me.
The clouds in the sky reflect your hazy eyes.
Someone’s wrinkled skin awakens the memory of how your supple skin always held my hand.
And the moon reflects you, for it shares your name.
Nature has its own course; it destroys only what it truly owns.
How can I say goodbye to you, when you have truly never gone?
My home was not made of sticks or stones, nor of flesh and bones.
My home was a feeling a blanket you wrapped around me,
sheltering and nourishing my soul.
You shall exist as long as the wind breathes,
as long as the sea cries,
as long as the moon shows up in the sky.
For I shall never bid you farewell,
for you are always with me.
My home is my enduring old woman
who never ceased to love me.
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