My father
delivered two strokes of
Love with the open palm of his
right hand,
and I stood and received,
as my mother stood and watched,
And I burned secretly inside and plotted.
My mother
in return
forgave my father
the role she played
in the feature length documentary
She,
The weeping martyr
Always reminded me of my
Role,
Faithful, unquestioning
Daughter,
In my dream,
I walked up to the script-writer
“I quit”, I said ” I quit this job forever”
And my mother wept
Bitter tears behind the curtain of her cold house,
The house I kept my memories
Locked my sadness so no one could see,
My house
Now holds books,
treasures of my intellect
Mirros to hold my beauty,
A remember of my mother
as she looked beyond the frame of the picture
and smiled.
A girl and her Bike 