Their Hands

August 9, 2020

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Their Hands

All was blank, all was dark
Just after the deafening crash.
A sharp wave of pain went up my legs
As I scream as far as my lungs allowed.

I was on my arms dragging myself out
With every push the pain shooting up.
Inching closer to the lights shining bright
With dying strength putting up a fight.

They came to me, to my aid
The hands that pulled me from the wreckage.
They came to me without me pleading
The hands that carried me to safety.

They didn’t see my caste, my religion
Or whether I wore a Tilak or a skullcap
They didn’t see my place of worship
A Mandir, a Masjid or a Church

They were not worried if I was contagious
If I had worn my mask properly.
Or if I had my blood tested
Risking their own lives in this raging pandemic.

They were worried, yes they were, only
To see if I was still breathing
Only if I was hurt or was in pain
To give me the medical aid that I needed

They didn’t waste time asking if,
My blood was Hindu, Muslim or Christian.
They choose to donate as much as they could
To save my life as every human should.

Sydney Billford Monteiro

Sydney Billford Monteiro was born and brought up in Mangalore, Karnataka. An HR by profession, he has a Masters in Social Work and is working for the Hospitality Industry in Bangalore. He is an avid reader of Crime Thrillers, Mystery novels, and Science books. Creative writing and poetry is his passion.

He loves exploring the world of stories. His favourite pastime is experimenting with real-life events, creating characters, and turning them into engaging storylines.

Apart from reading and writing the author loves football; his favourite game and watching movies that depict unusual concepts and real-life events.

He also loves to have a healthy debate over a scientific idea.

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Their Hands

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