The Motherless Child

He walks alone in the morning, his satchel heavier than bread. The others laugh, run, hug, but he bears a trace in his eyes.

He no longer knows the songs that a mother sings at home, but sometimes the gentle evening wind whispers a little hope to him.

In his silence, he draws her, a little blurred, but still divine.

With wings of light, and the scent of yesterday's flowers she speaks to him in the stars, when the night lays down its great veil.

He closes his eyes, secretly dreams that she is coming back, only a regret and in this dream, she is there, she holds out her arms to him, she says quietly: "My child, be strong, I am watching over you, even far from the port."

He holds this sweet mirage tightly, and finds new courage within it. For even without his hand resting on it, he feels his soul embracing it.

He will grow up, even without her, with her heart as his sentinel. And every day, with a smile, he will keep her memories alive.

Because a mother's love, deep, never dies, it lives, it melts in every star, in every prayer, in the silence... of a motherless child.

Blog written by AI