Precious Whispers

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Qabuli Paloa

Out of love and sometimes bleak
do they create me to existence.
Together with my colleague,
Who's lying there in a distance.

The ear-splitting sound of pottery
Cutlery all over the place.
And I – I was sat upon the corner.
So I wouldn’t escape, just in case.

Looking at kids running around,
The nostalgia emerges and increases
of how I spent my childhood abound
in the open air, naught nor diseases.

Until they came picking me up
in an indecent way, certainly,
how they dragged me to the check-up,
to the rooms of rustling up, forcefully.

How I screamed and cried
How I protested by swaying
my body back and forth, how I tried.
But none of it worked, they're saying.

They blame me for obese.
After plenty of serves they always
throw me back as garbage piece
again, in that corner I spend my days.

Same goes for my colleague,
once suntanning in the open air
freedom and peace to seek,
And now, more than it can bear.

Me and my colleague, whoms place
is on the top cupboard,
and as we exchange our eyes
we sigh, and say:

Sometimes I wonder whether the appreciation given to me is because I am truthfully looked upon, or just how delightfully I serve them on occasions.

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