On the special day of Daughters’ day, I want to share this poem with my readers.

Those bony and scrawny fingertips
scrubbing and scouring every
single piece
of dust and soot
nestled between my toes
and puny soles
imbues me with the
moonlight sheen
and the milky smell I was born with
You slowly and surely scrub my
anger, pain and hurt away
to let in dissolve
in that turbid water
when the plethora of emotions
 are birthing every second in your mind
as you fervently look for the
small scratches,
you might have overlooked
As gently as the seraphic touch
on my nimble body
which you have sculpted and nourished
every bit of it
you dissolve every pain
in the small bowl
you wash me in
For every other soul
it is a mundane task
for me,
when you touch me
with your fecund fingertips
it baptizes me and
renders my soul pure
Your touch,
my mother,
renders me pure.

30 thoughts on “Pure

  1. Deep and beautiful lines. It is not just the external world she washes off but the internal aches and pains as well.

    Liked by 2 people

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