Old mother s soul
Previously published by me ( as all other my English poetry ) on other sites under the name princeAlexander / princealexander .
* Old Mother's soul *
The end of her days gets burned out alone
In care of the staff in remote nursing home.
She hardly remembers her name and her age,
The book of her life turned itself to last page.
Her mind is confused and her talk lacks the sense,
She feels that she lives at somebody's expense.
No interest in living, no hope, no dream,
She is locked in herself in the mental extreme.
Since her husband has died twenty years have gone,
And then she has lived by herself, on her own.
Her only offspring is her sixty years son,
To whom she gave life and so much she has done.
He visits her weekly, she cries when he leaves,
He is so ashamed when he flees like a thief.
She wants him be near till she is alive,
He lives at the distance of thirty miles drive.
She wants be in comfort of family warmth,
He can not oblige with his heart has been torn.
She calls him each evening: "Please, please take me from here !",
He tells in return: "I can not, oh My Dear".
But once in a while she has painful nightmare
That her five years son still is in her care.
She calls on the phone in torment and despair:
"With whom is my son ? Where is he, where? where?"
===========================
See Russian "white poetry" translation at
http://www.stihi.ru/2012/11/26/9123
* Old Mother's soul *
The end of her days gets burned out alone
In care of the staff in remote nursing home.
She hardly remembers her name and her age,
The book of her life turned itself to last page.
Her mind is confused and her talk lacks the sense,
She feels that she lives at somebody's expense.
No interest in living, no hope, no dream,
She is locked in herself in the mental extreme.
Since her husband has died twenty years have gone,
And then she has lived by herself, on her own.
Her only offspring is her sixty years son,
To whom she gave life and so much she has done.
He visits her weekly, she cries when he leaves,
He is so ashamed when he flees like a thief.
She wants him be near till she is alive,
He lives at the distance of thirty miles drive.
She wants be in comfort of family warmth,
He can not oblige with his heart has been torn.
She calls him each evening: "Please, please take me from here !",
He tells in return: "I can not, oh My Dear".
But once in a while she has painful nightmare
That her five years son still is in her care.
She calls on the phone in torment and despair:
"With whom is my son ? Where is he, where? where?"
===========================
See Russian "white poetry" translation at
http://www.stihi.ru/2012/11/26/9123
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