The Moves---Ghazal

by Meena
(Madurai, Tamilnadu, India.)

Calling Rena, I lost my voice
she lay without a move.

Rena, the one who teems with life
lay like a stone without any move.

Strange as it looks, I go near her
shake her forcefully, not a move.

Is she dead? I gasp for breath.
Alas! Could hear her breathe without a move?

I sit near her running my fingers through her hair,
expressionless she looks, without a move.

I talk to her recalling the good old days,
stone like she listens without a move.

I continue for an hour caressing her.
Her eyes flicker the first move.

I press my lips on her forehead,
Rena smiles, part of her is coming back, the secondary move.

I have been involved on my own for long,
the cause for her setback has arrested her moves.

Rena is my little girl, motherless,
basks in my affection. I am the source of her moves.

I embrace the kid. No words would work better.
My eyes turn moist. I regret my foolish moves.

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