She rushes after me alone walking in the street,
So much mannered that she never let me go without her greet,
Plays with the mud, plays with the sand
Makes unremarkable designs with her little little hands,
She forces me to make my radio off, to listen voice of her,
Pleasant it sounds to me even if she murmur,
That voice, that cute face died and was buried before my eyes,
I cried a lot and scolded God is it a way a young girl dies?
I was broken in pain, real pain,
As I knew I can't ever her regain
I still wait; I still wait to listen her voice with patience,
She made me blind always without her presence
Oh, Mom, now I walk before her soul alone walking in the street,
I feel she says me to forget her, and practice to go without her greet
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Author Notes
Try to understand the poem by dreaming in your heart.
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