FOR MY MOTHER

I see my mother. Her twenty-year-old face.
She is not threatened by the dangerous tear of a furrow,
Twelve hours she has taken,
and her lips rather closed and sealed,
She never meant to complain!

His straight sword-flower's body,
like a bow, straightened in a straight line.
In his crown of hair the autumn colours
The dye of the hair!

To her lion-like willfulness
The years have made great sacrifices.
He was always vulnerable,
Though on the edge of ruthless worlds
He'd rather walk with his pallos-hat raised,
And then tenderness may be forgiven
For sins forgiven.

No man, no barrier carved in rock
...nor in any rock...
Passes the dawns uncertain,
...in the wounded twilight of the uncertain dawn,
and with unbreak'd cheerfulness ever stood,
and with two fists, with iron will, measured
with the uncertain future,
and yet every day he dared to rise,
To hope and to toil!

As self-sacrificing,
Like a Madonna of protection, angel-eyed
Joconda, loves with affection,
As she loves her thorny foes
As a fierce foe she stings,
skins them, fights with them
with a cruel self-consciousness,
with a daughter-in-law's flushed face,
with murderous nails sharpened,
- his will as enlightened,
a lady of the macramé, at all events.
through fire and water!

With a fake face, a rock-thrower
With a dragon's will to fight
For many, many years, she has been a scythe,
And she's got a financial budget
And yet not
Yet he can't yet covet the coveted
To a much-needed pension
to the end it deserves,
with his delicate little hands
with his often balding hair follicles

caresses, and I
I give her a foot massage.
As a humbling humiliation
To the radiance of selfless love!

I watched Him with an impressive superiority,
Who with a struggle drove Himself
To the nobler, the better.
He guarded with self-doubt
the treasure of selflessness:
The One Thing, which as a mother's inheritance
to her only son!