Thursday Verse No. 2: Handmaid

We rarely notice the silent companions of our daily lives, those that stand by us, not in grand gestures, but in the most quiet and necessary ways. This poem is an ode to one such companion: my handkerchief. In this experimental work, I try to honour its silent services, and its soft presence of that makes moments of distress a little less heavy. 


Handmaid


Do I hold you

or you hold me?

I can't tell. 


In the clutches of my anxious palms, 

With your neat white folds, 

you suck into yourself the signs of my hard work and residues of my sorrows.


Oh my handkerchief!

Your kind, soft caress

fails not to give 

me relief.


- Mercy Rebonica




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