Silent Hand
His busy days and nights
His sweat, his sunburned skin
Empty stomach
was in rebellion.
His sorrowful mind
His sordid heart
His god from some deep delve hidden
Was in soothe.
But she was utter impassive
Never spoke a word
Never thanked him
Or cried.
Silently she stood by
Listened to his gasps
And at the end stared at him.
That's how a day was made.
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