The Tiny Hands.

Languishing in her bed
Rena yawns aloud
as if had done too much work
whilst lying down.

Not the strain physically
does matter a lot
it is the mental torment
she undergoes takes the toll.

She stretches herself
throws her hands in exasperation
pulls her legs together
stares at the ceiling.

Everything is still
not a move, nor a sound,
an eerie of silence follows.
She lies without a stir.

What could be?
we wonder. Her little one
walks up to her,
kisses her forehead.

A few minutes after
a loud cry emanates
she shudders violently
shivers and sobs.

The child embraces her
clings to her. Tells her,
mama, “no cry”,
wipes her moist eyes.

By meenas17

A lover of classical Carnatic music.
An avid reader, passionate writer, into stocks and investments for livelihood

6 replies on “The Tiny Hands.”

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