This is a poem I wrote last week. It is about my mother’s memory on how she and her sister hugged my grandfather on the last day they saw him. I wrote poem in English once and this is the second time. I haven’t asked someone to edit the English yet. Both her sister and father lost their lives during the genocide regime.
Here it is. I would love to hear all comments.
We hugged him, I and my younger sister,
We knew something was going to happen,
We hugged him so tight that he couldn’t move,
We guessed life wasn’t smooth.
We didn’t talk but we communicated,
My voice was “Don’t go, daddy” Please stay,
He said nothing but our hearts prayed,
His inner voice said, “Hug me as much as you can”.
We didn’t cry as we saw him walk,
that was the last day that we talked,
We said nothing but cried hard inside,
Life, life, don’t leave him.
We still smell his chest,
Was warm, was smelly, but best,
that we would never wanted to lose,
Khmer Rouge, Khmer Rough, we knew you were going to kill him.
Nothing could bring him back,
And I still haven’t given myself a break,
To talk about him and his smell,
Though he left far away but he remains with me.