Mother you sit in front of your God
For hours at length
Now I know the secret of your strength
The source of your bile
That makes your tongue
Foul and agile.

But please tell me how come
Your pride is so fragile
Its debris
Strewn all over ; needs much effort
To be swept
And like the nasty dirt
That keeps collecting
More rapidly than is cleansed.

Why do you open up
Like a canon of filth
On anyone that comes in or even is out of
Your line of sight
Specially after you have offered your
Painfully long prayer
To every god of might.
Your son above all feels miserable
Seeing your pathetic plight.

Today I heard the silence shout
When you sat for your morning prayer
And out of the window
All the frightened
Gods flew out.

You were left miserably alone.
Chanting meaningless mantras and that
Warped shloak.
A picture of some recently discovered God
Half erect, half falling.
Mom,
Wake up.
Your Gods have left.
Your very
Very sad son is calling.

 

 

~Glow Worm~
 

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