In morning

She rises

To the sound of water


In evening

Her repose

Is the clear light of day



always always

the innumerable Hum:



flooding her brain)



One morning, though,

there will be no rising…

One morning, though,

No clear light of day.


One morning

One morning

Her children will instantly (somehow) know:

Ah, she has dropped the body.

Ah, the butterfly soul!



Oh dear sweet mother,

how long are your days with us?

Oh dear sweet Amma,

how long can your hands hold?

3 thoughts on “Amma

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