Birthdays do not end with death,
expiring with that final breath.
The calendar does not lose the day
when one you loved has gone away.
Time does not stop when someone dies.
Each birthday sees the same sun rise.
The years still pass, a long procession;
to mortal flesh make no concession.
And I, as always, mark the day
with no flowers, with no bouquet,
but rather with a memory
of all my mother meant to me.
The Creation of the Manchu Script.
6 hours ago