I’d love to rest my head on my mother's shoulder but,
She wouldn’t understand and tell me instead, be strong.
After all, what do I have to fear when she’s crossed oceans with nothing but her mother language?
Even then, that was worth nothing in America.
I’d love to look at my mother,
Head held high and tell her her broken heart and pain was worth it.
I’m sure she knows I’m lying though.
She knows what lies taste like after marrying her husband.
I’d love to understand my mother,
Know her story through work ridden hands and too aged eyes,
Ask her about what she used to want for herself and not for the rest of us.
Sometimes, I wonder if she’d had gotten all her dreams if she stayed home instead.
I’d love to tell my mother I love her but,
The words choke in my throat and lie heavy on my tongue.
Besides, her ears have never heard it to know what it meant,
And anyways, she closed her heart to softness when she said goodbye Mẹ twenty years ago.
I’d love to teach my mother to be soft but,
If being strong has kept her alive, who am I to change that?
Still, I wonder if her heart cries at night anymore,
While her mind plays all her broken dreams.
-this land of dreams broke all of hers