Her past is black, yet she makes mine bright,
For the tears she shed, she sweats for my smiles,
For the tears I shed, she rips down blood,
Her push: the fuel for me to travel miles.
From the womb to my tomb, her love is all that matter,
The only lies justified- my mother's,
Because I know if she does it would be for my better,
She is different, opposite but better than all others.
On all bad times only she'd be there for sure,
Am a part of her, I fed on a part of her, I still eat her alive,
Ungrateful! Yet she smiles, her love is pure,
I'm afraid nothing would ever replay her work in this life.
I am eternally grateful to all the Gods I so stubbornly hate for this wonderful gift called my mother.
Chaahat
YOU ARE READING
The Darkest Shade Of Black
PoetryAbout that shade of black that's darker, deeper and stronger. About a black so mean that it scared death away. About the blackness in my heart that seeks to all the bright. About a black so overpowering that it degrades all smiles. About T...
