This is a sequel of my poem.
After a fight, they
found an excuse,
She in stars, now of
no use,
Twinkling as brightly
as her smile,
As far away as she
from mine.
Her hymn now run
through my veins,
From the brink of
useless stars,
End up in some
careless ear,
Through my filthy
scar.
Equal to mother she
cared,
Less than her, she
will ask,
Might age be a
reason,
Or investment?
I don’t miss you
granny,
Just to write, I
write,
Might now I would
recollect you,
A shame, a plight.
