A harsh kind of mother in me you’ve had.
I made you work hard for bread proffered.
I did not pamper the little lad,
and the man I made suffer.
When first your eyes opened, gaping,
their outlook was bleak, empty, lone.
I spoke of a blow struck, and taken,
by time unatoned.
A shadow us two weighed upon,
A harsh mother I, you, a hard son.
You didn’t offer me that arm you ought.
You had no love for me in any thought.
When the wind blew and frost rang like a shot,
my voice you heard not.
Yet there I was, speaking, seeing your squalled
in bleak squalor, despair.
Yet my reticent lips said it all:
Do take your share.
Heavy a burden I bear, have in store.
Is it dread, is it joy?
Do you hear me today?
As a mother, my son I implore.
Take care of your mother. At every turn.
Care, don’t forsake her. Though homesteads may burn,
the fields trampled down, lost grain.
Tomorrow the shoots rise again.
I prepared you a deal to meet, my child.
A deal to be met I did set.
Care and protect me. Your hands decide:
if the ship wrecks or makes the port yet.
Do not ignore words of warning, berate:
Do not sell off for gruel, your fate.
You may well desert me,
I will survive.
Do you see,
how many shadows this way will arrive?
How many times clenched, the fist of your child,
how many times by your son cursed, reviled?
I will not perish, eternal am I,
but will live on with astonishment nigh:
How you forgot your deal, gave it away?
How you did tarry, how you did betray?
How such a cursed thing you’d wilfully do?
Betray yourself. But your progeny too?
While you were breathing, why did you give way?
What fearing, why?
What is death now?
Death is no bother.
A return back to earth, your mother,
with arms outstretched: her you’d disown?
Come, find out just how soft is the earth’s embrace
for him who his fate dares to face.
I, as your mother, beg: Me, my own son, defend!
Go on, to your death, though far rather alive.
If you desert me, I will not meet my end.
Desert me and it’s you who won’t survive!
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