Poetry
Nine months, my dearest child
Wherever I go, I always carry it
Even though I'm tired, I will never complain
The baby I conceived was our baby.
Oh, my son, I waited for myself to arrive on earth
Born from the womb of a mother waiting for candy-years.
Yes, my child, will give us happiness born inward.
My empty heart will be full again.
Even though I worked while growing up
I will never count the burden on my stomach.
He, my child, our baby, is the sun that explains life
It became a month that explained the pitch black night.
If my child is born, he will weigh me every morning
I slept in the afternoon, and in the night I would tell a fairy tale.
But I'm sad if my child grows bigger.
I hope he won't forget about his bundle
and love it wholeheartedly. I hope if he grows up later
big will always remember the way home, the path of his longing longing.
- Poetry of a deceased mother
poetry-mother-died
Mother, fad with you, in this world.
Even though many people I know, but my heart is still looking empty.
Mother, your young son misses your voice.
You are the first daughter I know when I see the world.
You are the first woman who loves me all souls.
For the sake of time, I can't make you happy
I have not sent you to the holy land,
Say so long for that holy land.
Oo, my mother, my mother, my dear woman, I'm sorry
If all this time there have been many problems with sin against you.
I really want to hang on your feet,
I really want to kiss your forehead,
I really want the words of longing words.
Even though now you are gone, but I'm sure
Continuously love me, love me forever.