Trust no one' said my poor Mom
I salute you Mom what you said is perfectly correct.
Life never gives me the happiness
And poor honest men always collect the tears.
In the burning desert of life you dig and sometimes find the scorched gold that has no value in the pawn shop.
I dream one day my flowing tears would convert to black diamonds,
At least they value those in the hell.
*My poor Mom pawned her all the valuables for my education and she dreamed that one day I come home with the oaths as a graduate.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Added by Poetry Lover
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