Is it okay, if I am not perfect?
Is it fine, if I sometimes make mistakes?
A jar of a sister, filled with ‘expect’.
Mother’s hunger for hope, has to be slaked.
I swear I am trying to my fullest.
You slug forward, you and your heavy shell,
A doctor, a lawyer or a dentist,
Do I need a coat of armour as well?
Should I be like her treading hefty feet,
She who doesn’t always give me great hints.
She who does everything like an elite,
I’ll mirror every move, stepping in prints.
Happiness will find you, not if you force,
Mother commands, but I make her throat hoarse.