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Motherly Love
The head searches for it, wants to tuck in it
My head, sleepy, trying to find a window,
to rest and fall back to a short siesta,
as the tramcar rattled its way through the city,
wrapped in a quilt of fog, the sepia lights,
trying to shine through the misty layer caressing them,
and as I heard the bell of the tram-car ring,
my half-dreamy soul somehow managed to hit a memory,
a memory that lied, probably in some deep caves,
of the subconscious.
Two little legs, inside a rattling tramcar,
running through the sea of people, standing,
in the overcrowded compartments, finding,
searching frantically for that familiar touch,
a familiar face, whose hands had, for a second,
lost its contact with this little being,
as little teardrops started to gather,
on the puffy eyes, that familiar face caressed him,
from behind, relieved to find him back,
and as his face found those shelter of those arms,
as his nose recognized that familiar smell,
that indescribable smell, that only mothers have,
knowing that now, his little soul is safe.
