Holding my Father's hand
As I lie on my mother's bed
In the silent communication-
I feel, I am communicating
The gentle, yet, firm touch of my Father's hand to my mom.
Being in her bed
is like being in her lap...
I can feel her breathe, turn and move.
Every memory of her flows like a river on the mind's map.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem