Still With Me

Shugufta Mushtaq 

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A year has turned, the seasons spun,

Since your sweet, earthly race was run.

Three hundred sixty-five long days,

Of learning how to walk through gray.

They say that time begins to heal,

But they don’t know how deep I feel.

The silence where your voice should be,

The phantom warmth you left with me.

I see you in the morning light,

I speak to you in dreams at night.

A mother’s love doesn’t fade to dust,

It turns to quiet, guiding trust.

Today I look at photos past,

And wish that moments could outlast

The steady, thieving march of time—

But you are here, and you are mine.

Not in the way I used to hold,

But in the stories still untold,

In every habit, smile, and tear,

I’ve lived your love for one whole year.

Rest gently, Mom, though we’re apart,

You hold the center of my heart