Sunday, 15 June 2008
she hoards trash
And also come ride the Monday Poetry Train...
"those mud smeared boots,
some loose change;
that tattered journal
a much thumbed photo album,
you know what, she hoards trash."
these words, I overheard
for being spoken about me, to my mom.
I heard my mother defending me,
"she seldom hoards the bitter words;
your somewhat sarcastic smile;
your cutting remarks,
your hurtful ways.
she forgives and forgets,
moving on forward,
always being affectionate to you."
Pausing she went on,
"so why do you grudge her holding a bit of trash?
all these are stuff which belonged to her dad."