Gray-Haired Woman

Gray-haired woman, giver of life
Your womb was the maker of a being
more than thirty years ago,
when by a twist of fate
two young souls shared a moment
of passion without love.

Your life has been filled with tears
and solitude from an early age.
Your father, always lost to alcohol,
gave you blows instead of kisses and embraces.
Your mother, from dawn to dusk,
worked each day among food and pots,
between prayers and struggle, to give her seven children
the best she could.

You grew up alone, and alone you shaped yourself.
Six siblings were under your care,
and in time, they too grew.
They call you “Nena,”
and no one knows your real name.

Among scissors and brushes
you spent your youth, and it was there, in a moment,
that you met that dreaming madman who impressed you.
Your courtship was fast, and your marriage even faster—
sealed in a hospital bed.

That was the beginning of chaos
and the end of peace.
You rolled through life beside him,
and alone as well, moving from home to home, from reality to reality.
From the margins you rose
to glass-lined streets, in a house where
what mattered was your name and pedigree.

But you, gray-haired woman, were stronger than them.
You broke free from that house of madness,
declaring your independence from a man
who did not complete you, who left you alone.
You took your son and ran, searching for peace.

Calendar pages piled up in the trash,
hours died, and day after day you searched for happiness—
but your past would not set you free.
Your son grew… and each day resembled them more.

One day, as you waited for the consequence
of a night of drinking, and your womb once again
became a place of life, after an argument
you fell down the stairs—marked forever.

That life ended, and with it, a part of you died.
Without knowing where your youngest was buried,
you were sent north through lies and deceit.
Your son was taken far from you in your absence.

Four years after that miracle of life, your child
cut his roots and took the shape of an eagle,
following his father’s path.
Total solitude arrived.
You wept in your bed at night,
waiting for news of him… with none to come.

Brief visits through the years…
each time you were further from your son.
He grew in a distant world,
surrounded by parties and gifts,
by money and luxury… and by loneliness.

Gray-haired woman, giver of life
Your womb was the maker of a being
more than thirty years ago,
when by a twist of fate
two young souls shared a moment of passion without love.

Today you still try to reach him… but he is no longer the same.
He is cold and hardened, not that curly-haired boy
with a frog in his pocket.
Today he faces life in solitude.
Today he is the one who lost a son,
after trying to relive a past that should not have been.

“Mom…” you want to hear. “Mom…” you want to say.
But it is not there in him.
His soul dried out… as yours did
more than twenty-five years ago.

Find happiness in those brief visits
from your granddaughters,
and may one day your grandson
kiss your forehead.

Live, woman… live.
Step out of your solitude.
Find your soul and your reason to live.
Leave the past and the tears behind.
Fill your life with color and music.
Dance… as you once did,
moving your hips all those years ago.

You are a beautiful being, and life has given you
someone who loves you and stands beside you.
Do not give him sorrow—give him love, give him life.
It is with him your gray hair will grow,
and with him you will one day rest
from a life that has not felt like life.

Gray-haired woman, giver of life
Your womb was the maker of a being
more than thirty years ago,
when by a twist of fate
two young souls shared a moment
of passion without love.

Break the chains that bind you
to the past. Let those memories go
with the wind, and find your today and tomorrow.

Life, even now, still holds
happiness for you—do not dim it with the past.

Live, mother. Live, woman. Live, Nena. Live, Mary.
Live… because no one can live for you.
Live… because in my mind,
your memory still lives.

A kiss, Mom.