For twenty seven years
the cross of life she bore us
struggling every nerve,
every cell of blood
bead of sweat and sigh of life
never escaping the hardships
to teach us long suffering,
to redeem us from the
ephemeral nothingness of the world.

Along the narrow path she lead;
the final destination of the soul she showed;
the sweetness of the eternity she taught
to shower us the divine punishments
she pleaded heaven for it was the only way
to reach our heavenly father.
The voice of my father above she taught us
the everlasting lessons at every turn of her life,
starting her day before dawn,
kneeling with eyes tearful and hands joined
sighing for our future with utmost
sensibility, never living for her sake.

She taught:
lessons of forbearance and faith
in the pages of her living autobiography,
bringing to our minds everywhile
the lamb that shouldered the sin of the world;
the story of the crucifixion of the son of man
when the entire creation in genuflection bent,
to save us from the eternal bondage
in mortal fires of the satanic valley of death.

I ascribe to her the unconscious preoccupation
with the fear of sin and its aftermath,
and cleansing myself in the blood
of the lamb everywhile.
But-
a strange fear always haunts me at funerals.
So-
I beseech
Oh father! do not resign yourself
being my mother.

(For my mother on her birthday)