A stillborn child of his own blood;
I know he will not call out
in a tender voice,
will not say—
“Father, gather your pain within,
stay alive with this hope:
time’s arithmetic is beautiful;
yet at times, unbearably cruel as well.
Still, I wish for a meeting—
of father and son.
If not in this lifetime,
let it be at heaven’s threshold.
Let there be a walk,
his soft butterfly-hand resting in yours.
Still, let there be a meeting—
if not for an entire childhood,
then even for a fleeting moment.
Even without words, let there be a meeting.
Leaving behind the climate of human cruelty,
in some beautiful garden
where there is no fear,
only the thirst
to love one’s son.”
Jan 28
Jan 28, 2026 at 6:25 AM UTC
A stillborn child of his own blood;
I know he will not call out
in a tender voice,
will not say—
“Father, gather your pain within,
stay alive with this hope:
time’s arithmetic is beautiful;
yet at times, unbearably cruel as well.
Still, I wish for a meeting—
of father and son.
If not in this lifetime,
let it be at heaven’s threshold.
Let there be a walk,
his soft butterfly-hand resting in yours.
Still, let there be a meeting—
if not for an entire childhood,
then even for a fleeting moment.
Even without words, let there be a meeting.
Leaving behind the climate of human cruelty,
in some beautiful garden
where there is no fear,
only the thirst
to love one’s son.”