I never held you close or tight,

Or rocked you softly through the night.

No lullabies, no tiny cries-

Just shattered dreams and silent skies.



Twelve weeks along, and yet I knew,

You were my son, my heart, my view.

They said, “It’s early”, like that made

The ache less sharp, the loss less weighed.



But love begins before the birth,

In quiet hope and growing worth.

I pictured you with eyes like mine,

A life ahead, a steady line.



And then-just gone, no warning sign.

No reason, sense, or sacred sign.

They called it chance, they called it fate,

But none of that could change the weight.



I raged, I wept, I fell apart,

I mourned you with a mother’s heart.

Though tiny, still you changed my soul,

You made a space I can’t make whole.



Thirteen long years, and still you stay,

In thoughts that never drift away.

In quiet hours, when no one sees,

You rise again on every breeze.



No birthdays came, no toys, no shoes,

Just love-and grief I didn’t choose.

But still I say, with voice held high:

You lived, you mattered, and you lie



Beneath my ribs, within my chest-

A name the world can’t quite digest.

But I will say it, bold and true-

My son, my love, I carry you.