The signs.

She wiped the tears off her child's face as we play with the dews of dawn we find on leaves ; completely immersed in the idea to not leave any imprints. The slight dragging of the dews that leaves behind its remnants are what the mother's frustation of not being able to deprive it's child of its sorrow is made of.

I couldn't stop looking at the mother and her two children at the bus-stand. I didn't know if the baby was hers, but the boy was. They had identical eyes. Amber eyes, the kind that poets dwelled in, lovers drowned in, and the kind that always has a lovely metaphor with it; unlike how they looked now, abandoned. The boy caught me looking at them, and I smiled at him. He didn't return the gesture and stiffened under my eyes. I felt guilty and looked away.

But I couldn't look away for long, there was something about them. An aura of mystery, blanketed despair hovering around their body, and the way his mother smiled, something just didn't feel right. When I glanced back, I was taken aback by the beautiful sight I witnessed. It might have been a scene of simple affection for others but I believe there is something so explicably beautiful about a brother stroking his baby sister's hair and the faint smile of the mother. Her eyes has welled up and she looked away, as if the tears would disappear if she didn't have a vision of it.

This time, I noticed him looking at me. And I couldn't quite decipher what he meant to say. Maybe he just wanted to look away, away from love something that was breaking his heart. And soon, his mother followed his glance and met my eyes. She smiled. And all I could think about was giving her a hug. To tell her everything would be alright and the world is kind. I felt my own eyes tearing up and by the time I delivered a smile, they were devoted to the baby.

The bus-stand had become busier and the crowd was getting impatient. People were rushing past each other as one bus came after another. It is a strange scene indeed. For a moment, the bus stand looks like a huge family going for a family function, some of them angry, some of them so happy, some just daydreaming. But half-way, they ditch all the plans and decide to go their separate ways. Suddenly, the bus-stand becomes empty. And you couldn't help but feel a little lonely and miss the strangers.

I hopped onto a bus as it was getting late. And as soon as I made myself comfortable, I glanced at them again. I saw someone pushing the mother in the haste and she almost dropped the baby. I shrieked a little, but was totally absorbed at the reaction the baby had. It had none. And the mother hugged the baby close to her chest as if the warmth from her breast would make the baby cry. And when the engine started, so did her tears. It was as if the roar of the bus gave her the strength to confess in someone.

And the tears from her eyes had adorned her baby's cheeks which she vigorously wiped away, removing away any signs of sorrow from her cold,tiny face. The little boy stroking his baby sister's hair, giving her undivided affection.

 The only signs that gave her life was the mother's dry tears and her brother's care.

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