I cry today of one of my wounds,
That hurts me everyday,
My children could get it healed soon,
But to them what can I say?
What matters is not the thousand tears,
But the thousand miseries that make me cry.
There are a thousand things this old body can't do,
But to please you I have to try.
A crooked body, shaky hands, weak legs I may have,
But the way you scold me, the way you ignore with the sword of sorrows you just cut me half.
There was a time, when you made mistakes ,
To overlook and advise you only I was there.
Now here the time is,
When every spill of my food,
Comes back to me as a maddened stare.
Oh! You keep me with you,
For love? I doubt.
You have motives inside,
To feed my old mouth.
So useless you think of me, as I am nearing my end.
My wounds get deeper, so hard to mend.
And the time when you too get old and your hair turns grey,
I wish your children don't do you, as you do me, I pray.
I love you selflessly as I did yesterday,
Just a little love before my last breath is gone is all I beg of you today.
- A. Thapa
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A poetry binding. 📰
PoetryWriting poetries to create a collection of them. So I hope you people will enjoy them all. Pleasing the work of nature, discussing life, portraying emotions, telling the untold stories, sharing love, mourning the bad, clearing minds, sharing imagina...
