Tiny Hand with Broader Mind
Tiny Hand with Broader Mind2 mins 209 2 mins 209
Crying in despair, separated by society and met by destiny... this was the only phrase I could hear after touching their soft hands on which they carried the marks of brutality. I was sitting in the car with my mother, relaxing with my harmful companion: my phone. My mother was again giving me that grinny look of hers saying "I think there are more important things to do rather than sitting idle." her words were piercing through my heart. "Mom not again" I responded in my mind to her rebellious expressions. "Please help us" a voice cried out from nowhere.
Looking down at the glass protector, I felt the touch of a tiny hand asking for justice... justice not as in help but getting out of the extremist webs of their surrounding poverty. I asked the little girl begging for food and money as to what she wants to become and the reply was enough to close the mouth of people who consider their thinking to be backward. She said "Prime Minister, because I don't want my mother to live like this" I got out of the car and gave her a warm hug of love and support she needed. I could see the dreams and aspirations in her eyes... that she was writing for herself. My heart started pumping words of kindness but my mind still excavating the inner feelings asked a question "Why is she begging?" That was exactly what I wanted to know.
"Wow!! That's a great thought indeed. But then if you want to challenge the political policies, why are you begging" I asked keenly for I was not able to handle the suspense of deep-buried ambitions. She said nothing.. turned away and started walking. The wind blowing by was carefully aligning her hair, sand perfectly personifying her paucity and when she turned a little bit... inside her eyes was a glimpse of dictated employment and tears falling down her cherry cheeks were no less than meteors of deprivation and lack of opportunities to such people. "We'll meet soon didi" she cried with a pirated smile and while crossing the road she fell into the hands of death
. I didn't stare at her corpse but at her soul, which was now in the hands of CREATOR. She was sitting on his lap, killing all her hopes and promising not to return and become like US. In the dark black sky of materialistic possessions, she was like a star becoming brighter and brighter as she touches the wall of immortality.