The One Who Mourns For a Failed Reason

Tears are obvious, those teardrops do whisper many… many things. Some are frozen wounds, some are freshly drawn, the purpose of belonging. And she asked her father, ”Am I an unwanted child, was I ever a pretty one?” Lots and lots of sounds these days, some are coldly handed and undone. I wasn’t there to decipher how birds still fly so stubborn, so cheerfully in the sky Perhaps, It’s a woe to the one, who mourns for a failed reason, nothing to live by.