Why my sister didn't cry at the funeral

I knew I don't know the words I should utter,
So I took the seat definitely far from her.
I could really see, in her wrinkled eyes,
she deeply wanted to say sorry as she cried.

Years ago, from what I could remember,
I am always a witness when they became fighters.
What a crybaby my sister was.
And what a strong mouth my mother has.

Mother was a member of the fire sign.
Dominance fuels the fire inside her.
She can be a badass or be benign.
Just don't extinguish the fire with water.

The only fish among us was my sister.
Maybe that's the reason no one knew her.
No one knew what's under the surface we adore,
Because she was as deep as the ocean floor.

"If you always cry over my petty scolding of moral,
Then I swear, your tears will never flow at my funeral."
Mother always end her speech of authority,
with words which, on my sister was a fatality.

I guess fire and water are completely opposite.
But they calm down when only one acted defeat
And the other just stayed underneath.
That was the time the war had ceased.

Finally, all ends meet that one day.
It seemed that someone has to pay.
At the funeral, my sister could not cry,
While everyone's wail echoed under the sky.

The volcano stopped wanting to erupt.
And the ocean remained at the shore's lap.
My sister not crying at the funeral was destiny,
for Mother to realize her words are deadly.

Dedicated to Cayla