Little Hands
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Nosheen Irfan
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Her fingers closed over a broom
While at her age, I had a doll
And learnt ABC at a school
A little boy with a sun-tanned face
Holding a dirty cotton cloth
Wiped the windscreen of my car
A small discolored palm spread out
To feel the touch of a coin
As I parked in a market lane
Little hands at a brick-kiln
Roughened by the life's burden
Soiled and greased at a mechanic's shop
Who makes little hands work?
As they eye toys in window display
And their feet seek the playfield's turf.
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