My mother, you are my pilgrimage. Your daughter, who was infatuated with your body, is still in the same state of turmoil today. My desires, happiness, and confidence, which have been in turmoil since you fell, have all been lost, lost like you, mother. Just as your lips, your eyes, and your unwavering mind that smiled at the happiness of your children were struggling on one side of the pillow, I too am fighting to live with your sorrows in my eyes. I cry many times these days when I remember you. Just the feeling of holding your hand and saying, "I am also a crutch for support, mother," makes me cry from within. I am a person who feels love and connection. When I remember the time when I was true to you, I feel like I have committed a sin. When I knew, you disappeared and left me alone. Even when all my enthusiasm, desires, and excuses for happiness inside me had been poured out into the air, my heart still bowed to your courage, mother. I have not yet found the meaning of being a mother and you being a mother, your glory is very high, I have considered your love as sweet as a gift. That love cannot be found from anyone else in the world.

The soil you stepped on yesterday still makes me feel good. The fatigue you sweated and worked on the soil that grew a handful of grain still makes me feel good. The smell of your sweat that you wipe off feels even more delicious. I want to dig into your honey to see if the hearts that laugh when you are happy are there. I want to wash the tar on your toes with the slippers you wear. The immense love within me keeps teasing me, mother. Still, I am silent. Sometimes, when I cry in sorrow, I still want to smell the bandage that wiped my tears. I want to take off that bandage and wipe my eyes. When I think of the village, I think of the rush of that work and imagine that you would go down to cut the grass with a sickle.

I still want to wait for all the hopes that have grown in my heart, mother. I feel that the drops of your sweat are still lying on the edges and corners of the garden. My relatives used to feel that I was despised when you were sad, mother. But, society could not question the service you did with your love in mind. Today, society is proud of your sadness. We had taught you that a person who has risen from sorrow is not attached to happiness. But it is not easy to bear sorrow, mother. Which I am experiencing today.

From the corner of my heart, I want to say this much, mother, wherever you are, there is always respect. I like people who abuse me, but love will embrace and hurt me. How much I am embraced by the hope of your love, watching from above. Touching your sleeping body, feeling your struggling breath, and remembering the refuge I have taken in God to fill the miraculous life within you, even today the same pain falls from my eyes. Even though I want to wipe the tears that have fallen with your hands, my heart insists on doing what is impossible.

When your birthday in the new year and the day I see my mother's face come, I am speechless. How would I feel when the day comes to see your face again .  The happiness and longing that I kept to give you are pressing and stabbing me . When I see someone else's mother's photo, I remember your feet, I remember the song you sang, and I remember the place where you danced . My heart returns after looking at your happiness after wandering around . When I see reality, I faint again .

I wanted to cover you with my hard work . I wanted to satisfy your desires with the earnings of my sweat . But you are not there, you are the one who has been dug for me . I have no complaints about anything else, mother . I wanted to understand your happiness and make you happy by filling you with your desires. When I remember the day you were happy, my heart is happy . Then the struggle of your sorrow suddenly comes to the fore . And my heart is bitter and salty water falls from my eyes. When I wipe my tears, I wonder if your hand is on my cheek, if there is a voice asking why I am crying, which keeps me up and down, mother! Where should I tell you? You are the place to tell, but you are not. In this way, the sorrow of my heart feels very heavy, mother, the place to rest, to take a deep breath is your arms. If you change places, you have to pay the price, mother.

I cried because of your carelessness, I was sad. I have written the sorrow you have experienced in my diary. It is easy when my body hurts, mother. When my heart hurts, I need you. I only lack you on earth.

You are silent, I am silent, you are not. Even if your body does not see me, your soul must have seen me. Now all your and my desires are silent, the joys of sorrow and sympathy are in turmoil . 

I am tired, there is no joy, excitement, or happiness inside me .

It is enough that now I live, may the hand of blessing be on my head .