Opening of My Soul

Musa, My Small Musa

I walked in with hope beneath my skin,
A mother already, though life hadn't begun.
Monday, I heard your tiny drum, steady beat,
A sound that made my whole world complete.

But by Wednesday, silence swallowed the room,
No flutter, no rhythm just heartbreak and gloom.
And yet, I still had to carry you through,
Laboring in love for a goodbye I never knew.

They called it stillbirth, I call it storm,
You were real, you were loved, though never warm.
Born in silence, no cry to the skies,
Just Mama's tears and unanswered whys.

Musa, my small Musa, my heart's own sound,
Though you never took breath, you still held ground.
I left that hospital empty, arms bare,
But my soul still rocks you I know you were there.

They said, "Be strong," as if grief had a switch,
While joy for others deepened the itch.
I smiled through baby showers, stood through scans,
Clapped through gender reveals with trembling hands.

I cheered while aching, prayed through pain,
Each loss after you another stain.
Miscarriage after miscarriage, a quiet war,
As my body mourned what it longed for.

I've walked through days I don't recall,
Sewn on strength like a fragile shawl.
Learning to celebrate others' delight,
While grieving my baby lost to night.

No pictures, no toys, no lullaby song,
But Musa, in me you still belong.
They never saw your eyes or face,
But you, my love, carved sacred space.

Musa, my small Musa, Mommy forever loves you.
In every tear, in every blue.
You didn't come home, but you came through
And there's not a day I don't carry you.