Migrant Mother

I can barely capture,
Barely even gaze on,
The sight I see.

Her hair is wild,
Full of wind and troubles,
Like the night.

Their hands cling to her,
Desperately and fearfully,
Not willing to let go of their only anchor.

Her eyes drift
To something in the future,
And her mouth is a slash of grief.

They bury their faces
On her shoulders,
Trying to hide away
From life.

They are all wrapped in tatters,
And warmth seems to be just a memory.
They tremble as it finally fades.

I tremble, too, as I watch.
My fingers freeze and I am nothing.
Not myself, not a person.
I am empty, because I see the truth before me.

Finally I take the picture.
Click, and the moment flies away.