Reflexions in search of a poet

 She is looks at a pile of old journals. She finds some of her reflections from the time she had lost her son: 

"I'm looking for a poem

to dress myself with,

to cover the private parts of my pain.

Poems there are many,

but poets, 

very few.

I lost mine.

So I pile the poems

that are scattered around

trying to find him

to no avail.

Time dilutes the memories.

The good ones.

The sad ones.

Until all it is left

is my dried up soul."

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"When I lost my son

I lost my solitude

I'm surrounded by his death

All the time.

I want to be alone

to remember him

but all my memories

are blurred by a big

sad stain of his death.

When I lost my son

I lost all my friends.

Most of them don't

want to be stained

by his death.

The dear, dear ones

I can't bear their emotions

any longer.

If they are happy

it seems so frivolous,

if they are sad

it seems so frivolous.

"Tell me about the son you lost?"

Oh! You didn't lose any. How would you know then?

When I lost my son

I lost all my wishes

my future doesn't make sense,

because my son will never be present.

I lost my companion

in long chats at night

in phone calls 

filled with intelligent conversations.

I lost an important reference"

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"I wish I could have embraced you at the time of your greatest suffering, but all I can do is to submit myself to a similar suffering, living on the verge of hopelessness and death.

My desire is that when I get to that critical moment, I'll see you and we will embrace each other"

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At this point she stops thinking. She knows that there won't be such a moment. Her children are gone and there will be no embrace, no permanence.