An Unfinished Song

. (dedicated to my adopted mother)

Its been more than half century.

I still can not see,

How you were of any benefit to me.

With your lies and enviousness.

With your hate and conceit.

Perhaps thats the reason,

I became a cooperative.

Always disliking to compete.

You wrote me in your broken tongue.

Your throat ceased; not another word rung.

Your self-centeredness led to my own insignificance.

I was left as an unfinished song,

That I've been trying to complete.

But your long subtle influence has remained

On, what seems, an unending feedback loop.

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The Journeying Self || A Poetry Journal