This year I lost the closest heart to mine,
My mother, love so pure, a light divine.

She held my hand when all the world was wide,
And in her love I’d safely run and hide.

At five, while siblings went to school each day,
With her I laughed and helped her clear the tray.

We sipped our tea and watched the camel pass,
He'd nod to me through panes of morning glass.

I’d climb the couch to wave and call his name,
But fate, that day, had played a cruel game.

I lost my balance—down I fell so fast,
And hit the ground; I thought that breath my last.

The cries rose high; old women screamed in fear,
My mother rushed and held her baby near.

They told her, “No, he’s gone, don’t try to fight,”
But she refused and said, “My son’s in light!”

She found a truck, the only one around,
And drove me fast across the dusty ground.

The doctors stared—they said, “He should be dead,”
But I came back, because of what she said.

She gave me life, then saved it one more time,
And for that gift, I write this humble rhyme.

If not for her, I wouldn’t be alive,
Her faith in me still helps my soul survive.