Mother
Mother
Tears trickling down my mother's cheeks,
I bend forward to give her
A comforting hug and
She pushes me away saying
The burn from last Sunday's curry still hurts
And I look at her hand
And see this yellowish lump
Making me all guilty.
My head stoops low
And I see her legs and mine,
A dry plateau, a plain
And I wonder how much should it erode
For a plain to become a plateau
Those sad looking eyes, half torn ears
Always deny the absence of happiness
Instead use words like 'scared', 'afraid' and 'worried'.
One day, She goes on and insists
How satisfied she is
With two lovely daughters and a loving husband and yet another day,
She tells us about how she is tired
And I try to make sense,
Bring comfort doing especially nothing
But mere words
And I wonder if she regrets having me
Cause I would If it was me.