The Way Out

Help me,
Mother,
help me.

Take away this hefty gun.
Remove it from my hand,
Save my aching head.

Why do you pause,
Mother?
Why?

Am I not your child?
Am I not your pride?
Am I not your daily joy?

Why do you cry over my casket?
Could it be I'm really dead?
Is it possible that I found the way out?

Did I shoot myself with that hefty gun?
Did it remain within my hand?
Did a bullet pierce my aching head?

Mother, did you watch me do it?
Did you witness me commiting suicide?
Where you with me as I found my way out?

The way out -
How wonderful it seems.
Can I call myself finally free?

Or am I doomed for good?
Doomed for finding freedom from my fears?
Freedom from the thousand dripping tears?

Help me,
Mother,
help me.

I've found the way out.
Only now I wish to come home.
Help me.