The Little Doll

Sunlight and rays
danced on her face
Engrossed in sleep,
she felt not a trace

Like a little doll,
serene and still
But her eyes, though closed,
seemed to hold a thrill

Her hands clutched too,
in a sense of love
Clutched on a doll
with a little pink glove

She must have woken up,
at least from the sound
Before the house turned
burning gravel on ground

The house used to be taller then,
but now it was the tree.
They say it was in Bombay,
in nineteen ninety three.

Her parents returned
when it was all still and cold
No one remained
alive, they were told

Transfixed yet shattered,
they sat still in emotion
Their eyes giving away
their hearts in commotion

They looked around in debris,
found the doll that never cried
A little doll was safe,
but a little doll had died.


my open iit english creative writing piece :)