mother, release yourself

 " mother, release yourself "

( a passage to the tormented time, to the corroded love, scarred,

left unspent in corners of mankind, of a woman in gravity and a child in vitality,

of a mother and a son )

"The sound of ticking clock what calms me, nobody can give comfort to me"

At first listen, that part of the song, strikes to me as a soft and lenient cotton string, flowing as waves through the air, wafts softly around ears of mine. But for the next of second and third, it weighs heavier, heavier and heavier. So much filled with weight that if I were to squeeze it now, it'd excrete droplets of life, of emotions and colors, breathe flowers to any part of the air it touches.

The song played at a scene where a woman and a mother, of a child killed in the mischief of another, is opening boxes of what the child had left, rewinding time of memories, stood reticent in bereft.

... a yellow-red backpack, an origami-made medal, decorated with a writing of his, "I love you mom" and a teeth smiling picture of his, then there's a truck and a dinasour toy, a pair of chestnut brown shoes, a pair of fabric softener scented pajama, all the caresses slowly as if cleaning dusts from an old book. Then lastly, pictures of his, with one of her and her child at his birthday, smiling so happily, ablivious to what life will bring the towards.

"he was five", she thought

The woman with the coldest of backs on earth, lay around droplets of water, nourishing the ground with parts of her that is dissipating from the hurt of her love, the crevices of her long broken heart.

"he'd be ten this time of the year", and she'd be the loveliest of mothers

...she rodes a bus, to visit her son. All in white, her attire, the flowers she's holding ever so tightly, the palm of her longing motherly hands, all except the leaves of the flowers and the lines seperating pieces of her heart, which now have become deeply unexplored, bottomless, haunted ravines. The shadow of hers, an existing shade next to her white colored sadness and memories.

She's now in arrival to his resting place.

There she lays down the flowers, caresses the very last depiction of her son's grip, the very last proof of the short life he had here, with her. The congruous gesture floods her heart and her rigid mind with saltwater of hers, while she dismally expresses the warmth of her unspent love, which drained here entirely, into a woman as cold as the glaciers, skin cold to the touch. Then, a subtle line of a smile forming unforced, despite of her deep overwhelming sadness, for now on this earth, he's no longer but a part of a memory, her memory. 

After a pair of goodbyes, from a heart to a heart, a last glance before another month, she walks out, her cold back against the dusts of his. She continues the loop of her feet to a nearby forest with a box of his remnants. She puts it down above the freshly green spring grass, and takes another round of look to all, this time slowly, surely, scorching the details to her heart and mind. One she truly memorizes is how his gleaming smile innocently decorated with teeth, form lines of joyous features, truly creates the face of who he is, a child of love and dreams. Then, from her left white sewn attire pocket, she grabs what appears to be a lighter. She knew very well, all these years, the time when she'd have to do this will come eventually, she understands it well that gripping hard to the past, chaining her body, heart and mind to the memory of her child, is bad for various of things, such as her health, physique, well-being and her career where she shines light to dark pathyways of disaffiliated children, her noble, heavy weighted job. She too knows, it'd burden the soul of her resting son. As hard as it is, she knows. All of these thoughts running back again, like the reboot of a computer system after the lights out. It isn't regret nor hesitance, it is a default setting in her, in all of us when we are faced with a rather difficult decision or when we are at the end of something we're into, it's entirely humane. Then, right after the end of it, she lights the lighter on to the box.

...clouds of dark smoke smelled of burning plastic, fabric and papers, gathering all over her dried eyes, watery nostrils and her raven hair. Her heart stood still, stunned, the time seemed to be pulled into slow motion from the heaviness of her overwhelmingly bottomless sadness and love, her eyes locked in gaze to the deforming contents of the box underneath the fierce natured fire. But strangely, the fire with its blaze is creating a melody so beautifully blue it makes the tallest and sternest of trees to bend along for her, for they pity her. The fire knows, thus is entirely unburdened if she decides to wet him with the saltwater of hers. It's in mourn with, and for her.

Of course, she is all drowned in sorrow, but knowing her bold, precise and rigid personality as a lawyer, she is in no regret for the remnants's disappearance, for she's resolved.

She has decided since the beginning of the year, to chose this day specifically, to hold a ritual for the release of her baby's soul, from the chains of the past, of her.

She knows.

She knows, "we'll meet again soon..."

Then , out she goes, back to the life of a dutiful citizen she is.

~ [ "Clock" by INNI ]