By Sanskriti Jain
I wish I could have understood my mother,
I miss the days when I was much younger.
In the echo of your voice, I heard a storm,
And in my silence, I thought I’d kept warm.
But each word you said felt like a wall,
As if we both were standing, afraid to fall.
You spoke of love, but I saw only distance,
And every tear felt like a form of resistance.
We argued, we cried, we fought through the night,
And somehow, I could never make it right.
I failed to see the weight in your eyes,
The years of your own unspoken goodbyes.
I thought you were wrong, you thought I was cold,
But we were both just children, not yet grown old.
Now I wonder what the silence truly meant,
How much of your heart you never spent.
I wish I could go back, to understand more,
To find the love we lost, buried in the war.
But time has turned its unyielding page,
And I am no longer locked in that cage.
Still, I long for the days when I was young,
When understanding was a song unsung.
By Sanskriti Jain
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