Smoke

The grey eyes were like a puff of cloud ready for heavy downpour but concern held it back. Her bony fingers would interlock in disquietude then she would fidget back & forth in anticipation, waiting for her mother to recover.

Little did the ten year old know that death is irrevocable.

‘Time will heal everything’ exclaimed a vast concourse of mourners but in their hearts they know that some wounds stay fresh forever. Her memory lingers like a pall of dust & smoke encircling our present, aphyxiating us for the trillionth time as we yearn for mother’s love.

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I’ve written this for a challenge posted on Finally Unchained. Do check it out if you’re interested!

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