azmat naushad asif

I lie, often.

When my toddler
Draws absurdity
I say 'what a beautiful painting'

When rarely,
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