Cry of motherhood


Cry of motherhood

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As she lays on the bed
With gentle sobbing curves
Streaming her cold face
Like the streams of a sad ocean

The coffin is set to be rolled
The dust is on the waiting list
For the priest to add the ash
Then the bleakest time of dirges gush

Her heart has been devoured
The children staring at her
Asking where papa, father
Has gone to or is

And what could she say?
The sweat on her face speaks volume of her lies
Papa, father is not safe
But can the kettle bettle a while?

TheVillageThinker © 2014

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