Mother you were not so frail last year. Your hair was long and black. When did this never-melting snow fall on your hair? How did this inextinguishable flame rage in your heart? Mother, you are not winter To bring together snow and ember! How come you are drinking the last sips of yourself? As if you have come back from hell in the company of a black cloud: Your pink lips are full of wrinkles in which smiles are buried. Mother, are you looking for yourself? Who stole you from yourself, mother? Your eyes search for your sight, Your ears yearn for a sound, Your tongue pines for your voice, Your lungs for your breathing? Your soul, as you breath, looks for your life? I wish I had never seen you like this You were not frail last year. This is I, mother. Please recognise me. I am your sight, your hearing, and your voice. Breathe me in with your deep sighs. Let me give you the blood of my heart? Mother, please don't go away! Wait Wait with me Wait until the next dawn.