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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Sunday, 29 June 2014

Mother knows best. (The white sweater)

After washing her clothes,
the question of hanging-
came into clause.

Out the kitchen door,
was the line on which we hung,
below which by the corner-

the drain pipe led to a manhole,
neglected and full to bream,
in need of immediate cleaning.

It smelt foul like rot.
we were used to it's sting
and it's foul looking stream.

she cursed and complained,
I tried to explain but all in vain,
until she had us clean it out.

for the other option wasn't suiting,
so I had to help her do the cleaning,
so she'd hang on the only option fitting.

After the day had sailed away,
it was time to pick them up,
I took them off except the dump sweater,
which I left to chance hoping it'd dry.

"Will it rain tonight?" mother asked.
"No chance!" I said.
"Ayeh naboineh ebireh.."
(but I saw the dark clouds)

I tried to gamble with chance,
chance showed me I had no chance,
the rain came trickling from nowhere,
just like mothers instincts foretold.

I quickly opened the door,
and there it was(the white sweater),
laying on the ground we had cleaned earlier,..

If you haven't read stoned to death & Dear mother,
These are simple poems dedicated to my lovely mother.

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