Book snapshot

Oh, Mother, Death has awakened them in our hearts, eternally alive Like a flower blossoming from its own kernel, rooted deeply in a lifetime’s blood. Oh, Mother, Those beloved faces have become a luminous moon-halo, stirring longing within my heart. Through that glow Its luminous rays reach, Are there signs beneath the moonlight? through which a wanderer reaches his destination, Or perhaps trace footprints? If only... I could ask.. mother! or perhaps you ask the moon... If only. if only