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My mother’s diary




I walk the same street I used to walk in my childhood,
God, back then poverty had already tore its hand into the bodies of
men,
forever branding their paths through life… You know, I have piously
prayed for others just like I prayed for myself, I wanted to breathe lightly
for a few times, just so I would for once have something for
myself…
But even my mother used to say: “Pleasure is not
for people like us; we wear the mark of
poverty
all the way to our grave.” Shall I ever forget that
eternally blissful smile when she said those
words? How it lured one to be
good
and humble. In my memories, I shall always live with this
street, from which that careless joy was blooming…
I lived for that smile, and it was for that smile I swallowed down
so much bitter anger… Oh, God, if that smile would
still echo down the street of my childhood…
But now that smile cut into the entrails
of the oblique night, and she was still standing there,
in the same place where she stood
pensively watching me leaving the street of my
childhood,
she looked at that same yellow soil, as if she wanted to
shake all the poverty out of it.
I lived for the chance to hear her light laughter again…
For that laughter, I have spent many a long night traveling
third-class… And then I saw her, and she was singing
the same sad song from the blue and gold diary,
which was veiled by thick white curtains.
God, what kind of force from the depth of the soul is it that drives the
memories
to sing that sad song, from the heart, in that
street?
And the last word of the song withered, and she withered
with her hand on the diary and her lip on the song. That smile
was forlorn, as was my life. But as my late mother used to say:
“Pleasure is not for people like us.”








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Submitted on August 23, 2016

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Walter William Safar Claim this poet

BIOGRAPHYWALTER WILLIAM SAFAR was born on August 6th 1958 in Sherman-Texas . He is the author of a number of a significant number of prose works and novels, including "Leaden fog", "Chastity on sale", "In the flames of passion", "The price of life", "Above the clouds", "The infernal circle", "The scream", "The Devil’s Architect”, "Queen Elizabeth II", as well as a book of poems.Many times, while escaping the real world, I used to find my sanctuary in the blissful chest of mother Art. With these poems, I am curing the hungry soul, and it hungers for compassion, love and faith, just like any human soul does.Hungry and thirsty, I am staring into the very heart of the dark spirit of my own subconscious, and I would feel betrayed for who knows how many times, only to appease my thirsty soul with a torrent of tears, because poetry is like a tear on the face of mankind.I don't know much about victories, but I am sure of one thing, that compassion is a victory of the human spirit. I wrote these Poems on an old typewriter, which I inherited from a late American writer. This wise, good man used to read poems to me when I was a kid, saying that I too will read my poems to other people, but first I shall roam the world searching for myself.I admit I no longer have the will or power to roam around, but I haven’t lost the will to write poetry. All I want is to share my poems with the whole world.THE CAPTAINImagination is the timeless sail of all words,And words only float without it,Like a windjammer without wind.Without imagination,There are no journeysInto unexplored worlds,Because the world is but a boundless ocean of desires. more…

All Walter William Safar poems | Walter William Safar Books

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    "My mother’s diary" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2022. Web. 24 Jan. 2022. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/79571/my-mother%E2%80%99s-diary>.

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