Love

I hate packing suitcases It reminds me of when mama left She hastily packed her suitcase Just before she quit the door, she looked at me As though she was going to grasp me with her My watery eyes, trembling to fall down My throat burned with anger Longing for her sanctified adoration "You are going to be well, love," said she Turned the other way Banging the door behind her I must have made her that angry Destructive than the door she bunged I slept in my bed for days long, nights long Crying for my dear mother, I was sorry that she bore me torment Or did I? She returned not after long years but grey and fray She met the woman that the child girl raised A powerful mind, an alluring woman. They talk of thousand safaris Souvenir tourists must have bliss Mine was an expedition off hell Of a broken child and relic battling to birth the woman. "Hello, love," said she broking down I looked at her, a rugged person in need of love Since my mother died on that day, she left recklessly I sheltered her in care; she deserved nought Universal bidding, pine and call on my palms The rest of her regretful life was bitter herb to swallow I taught her to be grateful, not regretful I watch her die for the second time This time, I have been so full.