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Nimisha (poetrysoup international contest winner)

In her layette she looked fair.
'Nimisha', parents called her.
When aged five, polio plucked
The strings that her legs moved:
As a string less violin, her legs rest.
In wheelchair she grew up,
Along with her mother's tension,
And father's anxiety.

Rustic children wish her,
But nobody takes her
To the festival
In the shrine rural.
She wore new dress,
But as the butterflies in her frock,
She also cannot flit
To the shrine yard.

Cough waves, today also,
Shake her lungs so.
Distant drumbeats and holy music
Move her fingers in wind rhythmic.
Clarion in her ears does resonate,
And does ripple thoughts divine.
She never knew
Pneumonia packing her soul.

Serenity of twilight does collapse,
As, again, drum storm develops.
Few knew Nimisha swooned.
Later, people intoned,
'Being holy, an apt day it is'.
In emptiness infinite,
Parents knew her truly.
Wheelchair in to the dust withdrew.

poem by Fabiyas M V
Added by Poetry Lover
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