When I looked at her,
she smiled
but
her eyes
icy cold
with hatred.
She gave money
but never love.
Nobody was good for her,
only herself.
All village women came
to her
to learn
knitting
or for advice.
Hatred destroyed
two of her children
in a form of cancer.
Remained two
are crippled
not only by diseases
but by emotional
emptiness.
Such is the power
of hate.
She is dead ,
but
she still kills
from grave.
My
grandmother…