Your Mother
When your mother has grown older,
When her dear, faithful eyes
no longer see life as they once did,
When her feet, grown tired,
no longer want to carry her as she walks -
Then lend her your arm in support,
Escort her with happy pleasure.
The hour will come when, weeping,
You must accompany her on her final walk.
And if she asks you something,
Then give her an answer.
And if she asks again, then speak!
And if she asks yet again, respond to her,
Not impatiently, but with gentle calm.
And if she cannot understand you properly
Explain all to her happily.
The hour will come, the bitter hour,
When her mouth asks for nothing more.
A.H. , 1923
Minha Mãe
Ela està assim, o olhar
direito para minha infelicidade:
tão triste, calado, meu eterno lar.
E eu assim, olhando para ela
de olhos baixos, pedindo desculpas
pela minha tristeza e a dela.
Minha mãe, indo me olhando a cada dia
de minha vida, tentando vasculhar
o fundo porão de minha alma sombria.
Me olhando sem falar, sem pedir
nem nada querer, com os seus olhos
cheios de perdão, as ternas mãos fracas,
e as minhas, que tenho medo de estender.
A.B., 2007
