"If our father died, we would still have our uncle.
If our mother died, our aunt would suckle us."
The words of my ancestors, which I heard
from childhood grow with me over time.
My mother was no longer there.
Auntie, you gave me life,
you gave me hope,
you opened each page of life for me.

Like my mother,
you are gentle,
honorable,
tender and graceful.
Your hair was once youthful and spry
You embraced hardships
to support each step that I took.

On silent nights,
your solitary lamp filled the gloom
so sleep could envelope me.
You whispered lullabies
so I could dream sweetly.

When my mother died,
I thought my spring would quickly end,
but with you, Auntie
the sun still rises,
the moon lights up the blue nights,
the four seasons meander along,
the seven-colored rainbows still come,
and my heart is not confined.

I imagine
how you
passed the stream of sacred milk
from my mother to me,
every fragrant drop
a crystal of your mothering.

My mother and you are one.
You and my mother are one.
Auntie, let me whisper your name:
Mother!