Every moment, of the day
I’m calling you
Trying to forget that your death
is not fabricated, but true
Hoping that you come back
Only for minutes, even few
I miss you daughter,
and don’t know what to do
How can I go on living?
I have no clue.
I look at your jeans, dresses,
tops, the pink and the blue,
And the ones you haven’t worn
still in your cupboard new
I caress every item there
including each sandal and shoe.
Had you been alive, all of these
You would’ve by now outgrew.
I gaze at your belongings
They too are calling you.
Randah R. Hamadeh
Author, Summer Rays-Solace for Bereaved Parents