Love is the climax of a genuine feeling,
only a privileged few are witnesses to this experience.
Mom was a fountain of love,
she poured out streams of passionate affections for me,
the showers of joy seated pretty on my face every morning.
Goosebumps upon goosebumps at every flash of thought that mom was in,
somewhere beneath that strong me is a heavy heart with void,
the echos that ran through it were moms'
it was my name she called at every voice I heard.
Mom was I not fortunate enough that you were my mother?
could you come back and stay a while?
those bedtime stories that I formed a habit of, they played in my dreams,
they made my nights longer and sweaty,
if wishes were horses, I'd want mom to live again.