Children don't lie

I had a mother too.

I didn't know if she never slept, if she never got tired, but I was sure that she always got tired so that others wouldn't get tired, stayed awake so that others could sleep, cried so that others could laugh.

Yes, I think he cried.

No, I'm sure he cried!

Once, with cloudy eyes

with her half a cup of tea and a cigarette in her hand, behind the locust blossoms where she was shrinking,

He jumped when he saw me like a child caught red-handed.

In our time, spoiled childhood had not yet been invented

There were none of us who heard the lie that our half-finished food on the plate would make us cry, nor were there any of us who left a bite unfinished.

We shared our half and laughed, dreaming of tomorrow.

Our mothers would cry behind our backs, unlike those who laughed in our faces

I didn't know if angels cried, but if they did, I bet they cried like this. I was not yet old enough to name the tears that flowed from the eyes of a person under whose feet the rivers of paradise flowed.

He shuddered when he saw me

When I asked him the reason for the cloudiness in his eyes, he dismissed me with an exaggerated panic looking for his only earring, which he had convinced even himself that he had lost, saying 'those damn chickens crushed my violets'.

I was always being brushed off...

I embraced it so much and it started to feel so natural that I tolerated those who tried to get rid of me by saying 'it is a mother's heirloom' throughout my life.

In the years that followed, the end of these headlong rushes and headlong swings did not come.

In my short life, I have watched in amazement how those who fit in a tiny belly overflowed the world...

Really, I was talking about my mom.

Every year I welcome April with the scent of a needle-embroidered green scarf with lilac daisy patterns on it.

It was a needle-embroidered green scarf that looked white to anyone other than the two of us, but was actually a needle-embroidered green scarf with magenta daisy patterns on it.

It was magical, don't look at me calling it a loincloth.

I have witnessed many extraordinary, extraordinary miracles of that scarf since my mind was old enough.

It was the only legacy he left me.

In fact, in my eyes, her most precious possession was that scarf and her single earring.

Yes, it's a single earring, just like her.

The story of the earrings is different, but I would like to talk about the scarf that looks white, and the k prayer rug (I swear that it is green with lilac daisies and needle embroidery)

I was only 7 or 8 years old, I think.

We were playing ball in the neighborhood and one of my knees was skinned as it was.

When I came home, without making a sound, I first went to him in the backyard.

At that hour, he was either tending to our cows or watering his beloved local crops with his three-pronged hose.

In the barn, he was combing the hair of our calf named king, taking a jab at the mother of the new calf he had just milked.

I showed my knee as if whispering a secret

He looked at the wound and said, "It's nothing, my child, we'll put some cream on it now, we'll tie it up and it will pass right away", pretending to be cold-blooded.

The tremor in his voice and the dilation of his pupils belied his stoicism

He turned around, wiped one eye on the palest of the lilac leaves

At that age I heard a daisy rustling at the top of my lungs

He couldn't cry

At least until I got out...

It was the best copy I've ever gotten that the rest of them were crying lies.

'You go home, I'm coming,' he said again, brushing me off.

What was that discordant rhythmic thumping that mingled with the sound of my limping, clicking stones as I stepped up the stairs?

My mother never hit her cows

He loved them dearly, but how many octaves was the sound of a fist landing on the floor?

A sitil of milk mixed with the dung on the floor

I'm glad she drank her star milk.

No, his hands weren't shaking, his knees weren't untied.

Children sometimes loved to tell things that didn't happen as if they did.

I was a child, too childish to be

The cow's tail had already sunk into the milk style

Besides, the milk smelled strange today and even the calf didn't want to drink it.

Then our calf slipped

Unlike the tailless lie, the comet had slipped, and I held a milk-soaked dung as a wish.

(That wish never came true)

Anasthesia took place in the large hall overlooking the garden

Without numbing, without drugging

A few mother's prayers were anesthesia and the operation was painless

In less than two hours, the pain in my knee was gone.

As my eyelids, heavy with whispers, closed, a new era in medicine was opening that only you and I knew.

Hippocrates was conducting violet experiments among the daisies in the green scarf

And we were making vows in our mother tongue that he did not know.