A woman stands alone on a cliff
overlooking the ocean.
Winter’s cold breath blows harshly,
whipping her hair and her clothes
as though sharing her pain and her sorrow.
She seems unaware of the coldness
of the wind as she looks out at the ocean,
her eyes seeking and searching.
One hand is placed on her heart,
the other grips her womb which once
cradled the life of her son.
The birds of the sea bear witness
to her words, torn from the depths
of her Soul.
“ My son!” she cries. “ My son!”
Where is my son?
Gone from my life.
Gone from this world!
Never again will I see my son.
Never again will I hear my son’s
sweet voice raised in song!
Never again will my arms embrace my son!
My son!” she cries. “ Dear God!
I want my son!”
She falls to her knees
unaware of the cold for the pain
in her Soul is great.
Just moments ago they came,
the Chaplain and the Officer,
to tell her of her son’s death
in a land far away.
“ He died well!” spoke the Officer.
“ He died for his country and is
held in the arms of God.” spoke the Chaplain.
Their words fell like swords
cutting her and tearing her to shreds.
Her heart sought to deafen
her ears to their words.
Her arms ached for the son
no longer there to be embraced.
Only the wind and the birds
witnessed her pain and her grief.
A woman stands alone upon
a dune made of sand
overlooking a sea of sand.
The wind blows harshly
whipping her clothes and her veil,
as though sharing her pain and her sorrow.
The sand is lifted by the wind
to blast against her,
stinging and cutting her
but she feels none of it,
for the pain in her heart is too great.
She seems unaware of the stinging sand,
the biting harshness of the wind
as she gazes out at the sea of sand,
her eyes seeking and searching.
One hand is placed on her heart,
the other grips her womb
which once cradled the life of her son.
The wind and the sand bear witness
to her words, torn from the depths
of her Soul.
“ My son!” she cries. “ My son!
Where is my son?
Gone from my life.
Gone from this world!
Never again will I see my son.
Never again will I hear my son’s
sweet voice raised in song!
Never again will my arms
embrace my son!
My son!” she cries. “ Dear Allah!
I want my son!”
She falls to her knees
unaware of the grit of the sand
for the pain in her Soul is great.
Just moments ago they came,
the men of her village,
to tell her of her son’s death
in a village not so far away.
“ He died well!” spoke one man.
“ He died for his country and is
held in the arms of Allah!” spoke another.
Their words fell like swords
cutting and tearing her to shreds.
Her heart sought to deafen her
ears to their words.
Her arms ached for the son
no longer there to be embraced.
Only the wind and the sand
witnessed her pain and her grief.
Two women separated by miles,
beliefs, and worship.
Two women, life givers each ~
united and joined as one
through the tears of a Mother.
Sharon Dvorak
written in 2004
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