Walls Have Hands

By Veena Balakrishnan

Walls have hands A warmth of cold remembrance

Embracing you tight,

Till you feel at ease.

Walls have hands, indeed.

With rough yet loving palms,

Like your mother’s,

When you were wee and happy.

Walls do have hands. Trust me.

Spooning you like a lover,

Covering you with a blanket,

Cradling your face, kissing your forehead.

Yes, walls have limbs of iron,

Protecting you like your father.

Not just from the rain outside,

But the melancholy of your pouring eyes.

Walls have hands, yes, they do.

Kneading your sorrows into tiny balls,

Of self-discovery and closure,

That you had dreamt of every night.

Walls have hands,

Eyes and lips and a bosom.

And most of all a heart,

A heart that I call home.

By Veena Balakrishnan