I was thirteen,

I was twenty one,

I was thirty,

I am fifty.

New times,

new situations,

new people,

new relations.

But them feelings,

them thoughts,

them helplessness,

all the same.

You see, like

all daughters, I have

taken after my mother

and sometimes, I can’t

help it, but blame her

for passing on these traits

to me, as a tradition from

mother to daughter.

All my life, I have

seen her, not giving

up on her relations and

inducing the feeling in me

that relations are God’s gift to

us mortals, which need to be


So, the trait,

the tradition or

the pattern has been

passed on .

The pattern, of

accepting the fragments

of love and never daring

to ask for the whole of it.

The pattern of making

excuses for others.

The pattern of not excusing


The pattern of making

space for others in my heart,

while I let my own thoughts crash

to the back of my head.

In the end, my thoughts are

like waves, which splatter and

crash as tears, those silent ones

which can be wiped only by me.

And, still I get up, smiling ,

to follow the pattern,

everyday, everywhere.

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