Death of a child

O mother, have I been such a bad child That whenever the sun rises, you pray that I don't exist, Or say to the god you desire — "O father, take me to the gate of Duat Before he takes me to his own." I always tried, remained reverent mostly. Sooner things changed, but they had me lately... Given the circumstances, I was always good. Stop seeing fault in me sometimes; I was just a little rude. There were certain things taking my soul slowly. On a certain day, I was just sitting, and it ensnared me fully. I can't speak to someone, fearing they'll judge me. Who am I to say these are the words of my dying soul, Which will soon succumb me.