My dear mother,
My soul weeps with every passing year.
I dream of you among the stars,
untethered by fear’s limitations.
All the times I made you cry—
It’s agony now.
I wish I’d been stronger sooner,
but I drowned in my pain.
Still—
the love you poured into me
forged my will,
tempered my soul.
For you, I’d conquer Hell.
For you, I’d conquer myself.
I wept in your arms when they told me—
I hoped they were wrong,
that death hadn’t come for you.
When your end drew near,
you said it was like a dream.
There is no demon or man I fear,
not when I have your light as my guide.
I will bear your torch—
even if it claims my final breath.
As a child, I remember the way your hand held mine—
not tight, but eternal.
As if you knew I’d need the echo
more than the warmth.
With every step, the lies grow louder—
telling me to forget, to move on,
to carve a hollow mask
and call it healing.
But I remember.
I carry the truth you left in my hands—
the warmth, the echo,
the vow not to let love be rewritten.
Beneath the stars, with the infinite as my witness—
I give myself to love.
My dear mother—
For you, I’d conquer Hell.
For you, I’d conquer myself.
The Cosmics 
This is profoundly moving. Your words carry grief, devotion, and courage in equal measure—raw yet beautifully restrained. The love for your mother isn’t spoken loudly; it endures, quietly fierce and unbreakable. The recurring vow to “conquer myself” is especially powerful, turning loss into purpose and memory into strength. Every image—her hand, her light, the echo you carry—feels intimate and timeless. This isn’t just a poem of mourning; it’s a testament to love that refuses to fade, and to a spirit shaped, not shattered, by loss. Truly unforgettable.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much Vermavkv—you’re my most loyal follower I feel like, yet we’ve exchanged few words. Your support over the years, I appreciate it greatly. And thank you again, I am glad this poem resonated with you. My mother’s love, it is sacred to me.
LikeLiked by 1 person