My Hands and Feet

My names are upon the shoulders,
Like words on a page of a book all-large;
My fixations differ on this page
For certain phrases linger, like the language.
My sons and daughters are skinning
The chicken and peeling the vegetables
With their hands and feet, working well.
My writing lately has differed extremely,
For we knit like those who see the pride.
No sums are added and no differences are kept
From the ground, from the floor.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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