Mamma, I wish you perceived
all my poems, the chasm that burns inside me
the sweet scents I am forced to breath in.
Simply you can't, 'cause you're gone.
And to think you contributed a lot,
not as a mother but as merely yourself
the woman that bled,
the Individual, who socially fought
for her self-realisation
for their Red liberation
in the last years of her life, of her social love.
Though all was experienced with pain
— after inheriting a consuming culture that is totally insane
after being so servile,
a boss-friendly tobacco-addicted housewife —
you were happy for my historical teachings
the art we both shared
the verses we read.
Started working around the late age of 40
whilst recovering years of study for the University,
and took back your own life, which was sinking.
Then the crying, the medical fight.
in the growth of real life,
you were reaching.
Yet, they took you away
on a Sunny, beautiful day.
Within goods cancerous prevalence
within private sector the lucrative negligence,
around the social mankind that the moneybags hate,
firms keep getting billions from Liberal States
thanks to victims of lifestyles, so genuine
buried by gainful tacit consent,
by their profit on health,
cigarettes and meds.
Someday this will burst.
Of the old,
just some verse.