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 :)
