Women Wordsmiths And Christmas By Nishi Pulugurtha


On a small table that folds up
in the corner of the sunshine yellow room
a piece of wax
moulded by troubled hands
that craft to bring a smile
and some warmth –
in anxious times
that haunt and linger –
Of strife and dissent
Of voices heard and unheard
the hands that craft
hurt as they work and hold on
a little solace that might linger
for some time, some hope
to hold on to.
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