I spit on me
the hands that held me fed me once
are itching a body so fragile with germs
it was worthy for just a glance
whom my bro and I would know as mom
medicines are shooting inside her now
of no use at all we know not how
she's lying alone on a hospital bed
we're wishing with love so she's dead
how horrid is this to see those hands
the body that's dying to come to us
I have no words I spit on me
I kick my *ss I let her be
she changed her costume on Sunday 24 November at 5.35 a.m.
my mother didn't want to die...she wanted to go to Darjeeling...
when I wrote this poem, my mother was still struggling to live, her heart was still beating... sad that medicines couldn't help...kilos of them... I saw my mother as an on-looker...unable to do anything... I wonder if ever we could come up with some healing medicines which can cure a failing liver kidney lungs... there's so much to do
the hands that held me fed me once
are itching a body so fragile with germs
it was worthy for just a glance
whom my bro and I would know as mom
medicines are shooting inside her now
of no use at all we know not how
she's lying alone on a hospital bed
we're wishing with love so she's dead
how horrid is this to see those hands
the body that's dying to come to us
I have no words I spit on me
I kick my *ss I let her be
she changed her costume on Sunday 24 November at 5.35 a.m.
my mother didn't want to die...she wanted to go to Darjeeling...
when I wrote this poem, my mother was still struggling to live, her heart was still beating... sad that medicines couldn't help...kilos of them... I saw my mother as an on-looker...unable to do anything... I wonder if ever we could come up with some healing medicines which can cure a failing liver kidney lungs... there's so much to do
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