Through the glass, I see it clear
she was a laborer, floating in fear
holding some notes, of twenties or tens
Emotions of her eyes, were too intense
My point of view , inside from a room
“is it possible that I could feel her gloom?”
A question is it that I ask to myself
I can’t see any, answer book on my shelf
Other hand of her, busy holding a child
Clouds up there, were raining wild
those twenties or tens, were getting wet
her red-pale face, getting full of sweat
She went through the, the hard work pain
“is this what, the leftover gain?”
Ignoring herself, i.e. a mother’s need
she just wanted, the child gets feed
Now, the wet ten-twenties were getting torn
tensed got mother, a thought of corn
Her silent cry, it was hurting me
Can’t do anything, to set her free
Forced by the situation, to help I walked
against my will, the door was locked
the scene got worse, out of my control
when twenties or tens, it lost its soul
Still holding the pieces of it
she disappeared, with her heart got split
one thing I learnt, may be you won’t admit
sometimes, action in a PROXY you can’t submit.