Every day arrives that day.
That day perhaps awaited, and so hoped for.
Of joy and pain.
For that always sweet mother.
For that father who was not with her.
Which of me forgot.
Words, sublime truth.
Speeches, bestial falseness.
They fly on that day.
The most beautiful memory I do not have.
The kiss of that woman, never forgotten.
Always sweet, always new.
And, always the simplest kiss.
I do not hate you, it’s not my being.
O my father, you have never been there for me.
When you, I need you more than ever.
So, that mother did everything.
Even your own things.
How mothers are strong.
How weak they are, some fathers.
Useless to life.
Easy to receive your seed.
Easy to leave his love.
Hard to believe in tomorrow.
This you did!
That day arrives.
Every year arrives that day.
It’s only one day.
Yes, one day.
But, it’s all life.
What an impetuous one goes.
The wind carries it.
The time the cradle.
Thank you, mother, for making me be born.
How could you have left her alone?
Thank you mother for teaching me.
That I must never hate those who generated me.
That day has now passed.
That woman taken from time.
But always happy to celebrate that day.
That day, which every year arrives.
That day you became a mother.