Meeting The Missing Child’s Mother

Contemplating life;

driving subconsciously,

returning from the work,

Weary and blue,

a suckling getting ricocheted like a baby toad made me slow down my ride.

I took him in my arms, and looked into his eyes,

O the longing to reunite with one’s mother,

And how we don’t die to meet the dead!

Hearing the bleat,

a woman rose amidst a verdure weed.

cap-a-pie sweat sodden,

Making the gauze see through.

Yet, no organ seemed sensual;

she hardly had breast.

The malnourished baby in her arms,

looked far well and well fed.

A moment ago, looking for her:

I wanted to complain,

for how a mother can be so unbothered about her child!

But her physique, her absorption in labor

I faith,

For to keep the baby healthy

she can even butcher her own meat.

By Parbat Lawati

From: Nepal

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