Motherhood Agonised

‘My son will soon be
Brought back, ripped open,’
Our colleague wailed,
Implying the autopsy
Of her drowned son.

We stood in her room
Holding our tears back.
We listened to her lament
And searched for words
To  console.

The mid day sun
Heated up the crowded room.
Not the  lemon juice  served
Cooled off  our worried minds.

On our way back
We sat silent in the rickshaw
Getting anxious about our boys
Left for school in the morning
With tiffin boxes and happy smiles.