A Mother's Hope

 

 In the heart of toil, on brick-kiln's dusty floor,

A mother's labor bore a gift, a child to adore.

Amidst the heat, her body strained and swayed,

Yet her spirit held strong, as a new life was made.

In the shadow of hardship, a baby girl drew breath,

While her mother, with resolve, defied impending death.

For in her arms, she cradled not just a daughter fair,

But another pair of hands, another soul to bear.

 

With scarcely an hour passed, she resumed her toil,

Her hands molded bricks, her sweat the fertile soil.

In the rhythm of her work, her thoughts did stray,

To the future ahead, to the debts she must repay.

 

She knew well the cycle, the relentless grind,

Of poverty's grip, leaving aspirations confined.

Dreams, like fragile embers, she dared not ignite,

For the poor, dreams were but illusions out of sight.

 

Yet, silently she hoped, for her newborn's fate,

To break free from the shackles, to transcend their state.

But reality weighed heavy, like the bricks she bore,

A reminder that dreams were not for the destitute to explore.

 

So, with each sun's descent, she toiled away,

For her child's future, come what may.

In the harsh embrace of poverty's cruel reign,

She found solace in her labor, her silent refrain.