In the name of those that grew up being love-orphans...
In the name of those that became feelings destitutes...
In the name of those that pain and tears were the wine and bread of a miserable long mass...

Mother dearest...

...you have no heart,
you never had.
The look in your face I remember
never hold a smile,
you were the angry woman,
always there,
the one that suddenly,
without any warning,
could deliver so much pain
for whatever reasons
to a defenseless child.
I did never loved,
but feared,
the proximity of your hands.

...nobody should curse
the mountain's peak
impossible to conquer,
they are hard
and full of secrets,
cold and quiet;
perhaps, mother
you weren't a good enough
a climber, to conquer
the son that became a man.
You were the angry woman
supposed to be a mother,
but you had no heart,
you never had.