for Mely
i know you lied, not just once, but many times,
and they are all mad at you, and you come again
in my house, making all the lies, and fabricating
more stories, so you may earn your food and money
to buy your daily needs and the medicine for your
sick mother.
they are all mad at me for not rebuking you, for
pretending all the way that i believe you: your son
meeting an accident, your husband at the hospital,
your mother with a heart failure, and you on a
nervous breakdown,
i know all these lies, but i understand you, Mely,
a woman in need grips even a sharp knife just to survive.
my duty is to lend a hand, and it doesn't matter anymore
if the one who receives the help, is a liar in need.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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