My mother by Ivan Vazov traslated by Ann Wood
My motherIn the swarm memories are sacred,
where my spirit is now lost,
your image is thirsty
my spirit, mother, meeting, beloved.
You were my swing
with pitifully intoxicating songs,
watching over me all night
through my restless nights.
I grew under your wing,
I have care miles,
I have drawn from your speech and vision
and joy and spiritual strength.
My soul has learned from you
to hate, to love terribly,
from your soul it sucked
love to all, wonderful here.
You gave me birth, but you did
and the light that shone in you,
you and the man in me created -
you were my mother twice!
Poetry by Ann Wood
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Written on 2020-03-09 at 12:55
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