Laura de Jesus

The pains of the mothers of the world

What do you think there is

in a mother's gaze if not pain?

That son and his helpless sadness

weigh on her heart,

She weeps for him,

for the Virgin Mary,

asking only that she exist.

That protects him.

What do you think there is

in a mother's eyes if not pride?

She shouts in the smiles to

her relatives and friends that that being,

So worthy is yours, so yours, so great.

Weeping, moved, she thanks

the Virgin Mary that she exists.

That protects him.

What do you think there is 

in a mother's gaze if not tolerance? 

She tears herself inside 

when she feels that the principles 

she thought were well conveyed

They are nothing more than 

with their eyes closed on the child 

who grows up and runs away from them. 

And she cries desperately, 

begging the virgin Mary to exist. 

That protects him. 

What do you think there is 

in a mother's gaze if not love? 

Enraptured by everyday life, 

her son grows up with kisses 

and hot soups and gives her 

grandchildren who add 

to their cares, loves and work. 

And she accepts and gives thanks 

and asks and prays and weeps gratefully, 

asking the Virgin Mary to exist. 

Protect them. 

(to my mother who is the mother of all, 

although she does not ask the virgin Mary 

because she does not know how to do it 

and believes herself too small to speak 

to the deities of whom she was made.)