THREE WORKING HANDS


  

Three working hands of one mother
They never moved, except they are
told to
When they are told to, don’t touch
them
Or maybe touch them, but bear the
pain
Three working hands, of a same
bolt
With them there’s no discordance
Only dance to the pace of their
euphony
If one says stop, the third says
‘am off’
Three working hands run in a
circle
Amazingly at same pace
One wants to meet another on the
road
But even one knows it’s no
competition
Three working hands, work in workshop
above every home’s atmosphere
Tied to their skies
Blissfulness is their fruit
Soothe do they send to us as their
sweat
With them working, there’s no
sweat
For you or for me, we are all
covered
Three working hands, may not or
may seize to work
Like a worker, they require foods,
But not salaries.
With a wander, their pace can be
halted
With a wander, given no food,
their pace cannot be halted.
Written by Alao Ibrahim
eebrulight@gmail.com

THE WRECKED FALL

October 17, 2016

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October 17, 2016