Mama is gone

Mama is gone, the door of the house closed for the last time. The walls are dressed in her absence, her plants still keep their greenery, her pillow still has the shape of her head, and the beads of her rosary lie there worn out.

Mom is gone, and I paint my heart with sadness, her footsteps no longer echo in her room, her apron on the back of her chair remains.

And organized like her I leave the dishes, the house with its smell, and the silence broken by my crying.

Mom has gone elsewhere, her house mute, and this loneliness that overflows my soul, that although I am an adult, she left me an orphan.

And I still need her, because she left a deep mark on me that will be difficult to erase.

Mom has left home, and with her all the desire, that my illusions seem far away, because although she has already transcended, the thread that united me to her life, I know that it was not broken.