the room is messy
things clutter and scatter themselves
the socks smell in your feet
the soles of your feet are sore
the chair tumbles down the floor
and the floor is thick with its dusts
the belt blocks the entrance of the door
and the curtains are hardheaded
with their heaviness hanging on the bars
that keep them hopefully
intact.
the bottles of hard liquor are now
silent from the night of merry making
you snore and life stinks here
until mother comes to clean this mess
folds the blankets, sweeps the floor
collects the bottles and
makes the chair stand erect like
a soldier ready for another
battle
to win this game of life is harsh
it is not effortless
it has to be achieved with the muscles
of our resilience
mother sets aside the curtain
to let the morning light come in
signaling again another beginning
mother is the commencement of our
understanding about what art should be
clean the mess, make things right,
secure, safe, clean, neat, and orderly.
extort ugliness for beauty,
remove the emptiness, embrace light...
and always welcome home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem