The Praying Hands

The moonlit night and the faded bougainvillea

The grand old trees recounted

The glorious annals of Holy Angels’ convent.

The praying hands consoled

When times were tiring.

They  implore to the Almighty in a peculiar language.

Serene Hands heeled the earth from birth.

It was their determination

That thrived each to hurdle to cradle.

They loved all and served all

With their angelic touch

As the time passed,

They moulded the best citizens of the sphere.

They kindle the humanity, with amity.

They sanctify the minds,

With soothing words.

Indeed life was a memorable one

In my alma mater.

                                                        Navaneetha.G

10/5/2012