Where is that hand,
That motherly embrace,
Which comforts in its ****** -
That motherly hand I can trust?
Where is that hand,
That warming caress,
Which eases the nerves -
That cocoon of soft curves?
There is no rest anymore
In thoughts of exile and escape;
My being is shaken to the core,
My soul bent under the stress.
Where is that hand,
That soothing absence,
Which cradles you gently -
That silence of calm and mercy?
Where is the hand,
That promise of better days,
Which relieves innocently -
That convincing “don’t worry”?
There is no rest anymore
In thoughts of exile and escape;
My being is shaken to the core,
My soul bent under the stress.
Written on August 7th, 2021;
Completed in April 2022.
— Copyright © M. Solav —
www.msolav.com
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