a sad hymn of a mother
lulling her hungry child to sleep
under the bridge of the dead city
it’s nearly winter, she could feel
the chills of the cold winds,
gushing in the dark, scary night.

the whistling winds
and the cold, wind-driven rains
thrashing her old ragged hut,
the leaks of raindrops on her roof
it’s been years now,
it could fall anytime.

she sleeps with her eyes open
fearing for her child,
singing the Lord’s prayer in silence
tears break through, like a volcano
washing off nature’s beauty,
it has been an endless song all her life
singing the Lord’s grace
drowning in an abyss of time
her hopes fading into the winds

like a lost sailor,
striving against tumultuous waves,
amidst the swallowing seas
yearning for a shore,
she lives in fear of tragedy
not for her, but her child
as she gawks at the moments
passed by, a father and a mother
she has been for her child,
the world has forged her
into a survivor, she sings
a sad gospel, for the heavens
to ease up her strifes.