TS (05 April 1985 / Tezpur)

Small

a hand full of lukewarm water
just strikes my forehead
slowly slowly it splatter
here and there about my forehead

fever is painfull, I know mother
but it's feeble when you care
with the warmth of your hands oh mother!
the water kills it, it won't spare

it's the energy of our small world
just between two of us
it's the bond of my small hand
just to hold both of us

do stay with me oh mama!
and I will play the scene for you
no evil can hurt us mama!
as soon as with me are you

every time I got sick like that
my mother put my small head in her lap
she gives me warmth and long night pat
and I feel fine in her lap

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Comments (1)

an emotional poem nice one