By JH Sayyar
The hush that falls when Mother's breath is still,
A silence deeper than the grave's cold sleep—
No dawn can mend what dusk was born to kill,
No joy can climb where sorrow burrows deep.
Her hands, once warm, now rest in folded grace,
No lullaby, no voice, no tender scold remains.
Yet in the quiet, I still seek her merciful face,
And hear her voice through memory’s soft chains.
The earth has claimed her, yet my soul still clings
To whispered truths she taught me, calm and wise.
Her love—unseen—has grown immortal wings,
A beacon now that shines in the darkest skies
Though time may dull the sharpness of this pain,
A dear mother’s love in death shall still remain.
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