Scars

I am at a distant, I stare at you bloom, My heart is eager to smile, But my memories and my present sight, force not to. You need broad shoulders because the rains shall rain. I want you to know; They will whisper into ear something you despise. They will touch you where you don`t want to be touched . Choose for you who to give your heart. Because of their eye, Happiness and us we are strangers. You are born strong, I know, You will put your best effort on everything, But there will be no lion share, For the one who fought like a lion, They say they are the best. I was once there. I saw the rain raining, The sun rise, And the full moon melts, But I never saw them smile with me . When they smile I cry. When I smile they are hurt. My scars reveal my struggle, The struggle which swallowed me. You will shed tears, Someone will hear your cry, But none will say no. They say it is the only way, “So go with the stream, Surrender yourself to it, This discretion is the better part of velour”. They know you are vulnerable. They keep on making for you. With fake colours they will lead you to the land of regrets. Try to always remember; A circus lion dressed in jewellery, Still feeds on meat. They will say; I will build you castles in the air, But have you ever seen castles fly? Others saw all this but they remained mute. It shades hope, it hurts. At night alone, I wish to nurse my aching heart, But I am always in fear, I know; What strikes today with ease, Will do so tomorrow with pride. I wish if I had a basket to save the leaves , They are shedding from your tree of hope, But my heart is so small, I cannot hold all of them. I see them fall and rot, my tears flood. Sometimes we open our arms, At everything thrown at us, And it finds a home in us. Fake a smile, And say we have adapted to the struggle. But the tree knows the state of its fruits, We cannot throw dust to the inside eye, Deep inside our hearts are weeping, We are in pain. The writing is on the crown of the tallest tree , For all to read and for us to chew its bitterness . If the commandment they set and believe in, Is not revisited, We will march on but struggling, ploughing sand, My enemy will be your enemy. I wish I could run with you to "another place". But they seems to be no this “another place", Because they say this is our home. But this is only our house , not our home . My dear, You are my daughter, I am your mother, But they forget with such ease, We are their mothers, They are our sons.