The art of smiling, how forged might it be
In this wonderful family picture;
Father’s face full of scars, laughing with glee,
Mother’s hands wounded, strange misadventure!
My baby sister holding the hurt hand,
And I, standing beside my dad, arms crossed,
Chuckling at jokes I could not understand;
Joyful, twinkles in my eyes, eyebrows arched,
The last gathering, as a family.
Years later, our household’s climate got odd,
Cries and kicks ricocheted heavily;
I spotted a shooting star, called on God,
But God was sleeping, my parents divorced;
