Duster

I remember you.
A bamboo stick disguised under of brown-red feather.
Placed on top of the cupboard like a relentless god.
A punishment for a small lie, misbehavior or unsatisfactory report.
You gave me pain, when mom or dad smacked you hard on my delicate skin.
You gave me shame, when classmates laughed at the red-whitish marks you left.

I remember you.
My brother and I annihilated.
We plucked your feathers one by one.
We snapped your body in half.
A tyranny overthrown; a revenge taken; a cruelty destroyed.
Your brother came the next day, more colorful feathers, more powerful stick.

I remember you.
Gradually you did your job, you have disappeared;
You have no role in such family –
Aging parents, grownup kids thousands miles away.
You have no spot in my parents’ mind –
Now occupied with travel plans, health problems and the wait for grandkids.

Now I know that.
I am at my mother’s age.
Adulthood hasn’t become easier with wisdom.
Responsibilities don’t necessarily go with recognitions and rewards.
Parenthood is an aspiration, but also a perplexing function.
The ultimate patience, unrequited efforts and unconditional love

Now I know that.
I should thank you for having developed me,
An overall decent person, I try to only lie for good reason.
Though not everything comes satisfactory, I have used all my excellence.
All the pain reminded me life is bitter when it is not sweet.
All the shame motivated me to aim high to reach.


Now I know that.
When I saw mom and dad waving to me at the airport,
Staggering with their luggage, a silhouette against the sinking sun.
Time has shown on their grey hairs and furrowed forehead.
I am no more a girl, but I still cause them trouble.
Sometimes I forget, maybe I never said, I love you mom and dad.