I lie, often.
When my toddler
I say 'what a beautiful painting'
my husband makes me a breakfast
of slightly burnt toast and salt less scramble;
I gulp it down praising
'Thanks for such a delicious treat'
When my mother gifts me a dress
of a colour I like the least
I exclaim in happiness
'Oh! mom its trendy'
Everyday I lie a little, to see
little smile lie on their lips
So what if I have bite marks
Of crow all over me.
People love me with all
My ugly lying scars
Comments about this poem (Bird Bite by azmat naushad asif )
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