I Cry No More

Mom, where are you…

The winter is cold, same as the milk!

The cats have eaten my loaf of bread…

I shall not cry!

Dad…

Can you hear the hunter’s gun

As he shoots my swans?!

The river has turned into red

I shall not cry!

Grandma…

The cakes looked heavenly delicious

The ones you left on the fireplace…

But the fire reached them and they were burned!

I shall not cry!

Reema; one of the old good days’ writers…

A connoisseur of white color and horses; for whom writing is a hobby and for which, she leaves the world behind!

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