A Poem For Mother

Mom,

You are so far to see

How old your son became

Like the clothes of his childhood

That may not exist anymore

How broken he is

Like glasses of the Kabul’s windows

In civil wars

How painful he is

Overload

Like the kid who was surrounded with all family members death

In the suicide-attack

Mom,

You are so far to see

The winter which is breathing in your son

Beginning of the winter perhaps

Cold-snowy-head

Beards with white dots of the winter

And the fall season already shook

his dreams

His hopes

His spirits

No,

He is the winter itself

Snowy man

Old broken man after the fall

Mom,

 You are so far to see

How your son has deep similarity

How deep friendship

With the rain season of this land

The cloudy sky

The way-worn wounded clouds

The ulcer wounds

How dignified ally they are

When usually they rain together

The sky and your son

Like the fish in the ocean

And wail on the Rocky Mountains

Mom,

You are not to see

How your son is ending

Same as this poem

Roughcast

Unfinished