Sit me next to her beneath the same dark cloud that hovers and fulminates, grey and gloom.
Let me feel the pain and aches of weary bones in a putrid soul, drench me in echoes of groans and moans of a body that writhes and twists in violent jerks rejecting the very life pined over and prayed for.
The windows to her being a misty-haze, downcast, extirpating what zeal is left forever longing for that one day when feeling will be extrinsic.
They huddle beside her,craving her touch, once warm and soothing now flaccid and frosty, as if they too, sense their mother's demise creeping nearer to thee, savoring each moment as if it were last.
The hushed whispers of a voice broken, tormented by watchful eyes of thy fruit of the womb, pleading and begging for her perpetual breath lest they be mother-less.
Let me wail with her when she weeps for her children when she curses the past and admonishes the future depriving her,her heart's importune, allow me to impale her clattered mind, pick through her thoughts to understand and not judge.
On her death bed,discouraged she waits, only fate can take away...