This poetry comes to you on a day when I get to read of a report which states that India witnesses at least 5,00,000 girl children being killed every year. It is both shocking and shameful. Being a woman; all I can say is that it is time, closed minds open to the reality before it is too late to repent. This poetry is dedicated to all those little hearts that were killed for no reason of their own.
The firmament predicted her story,
Today, I realize it was all false.
It spoke of jewels and glory,
It spoke of dreams and love.
The diabolic wind then changed its course,
It upended the fate that it was.
Stoned, hurt and cursed at for being her,
The heart of the girl lay buried beneath the ground.
Her spirit swayed in pain and humiliation,
Pained and rejected, it turned irate.
Nobody to turn to, she stands alone,
Nobody to save her from that impending act of cruelty,
From being killed on being the girl that she was!
Reality shattered the pure and naïve,
Her rejected being then stared back at that very old firmament,
Her shrewd fortune teller turned away its eyes.
Now that those eyes saw no destination beckon to her,
Alone and desolate, the eyes close itself.
From the cradle of hate,
The coffin of humiliation as a home,
Those eyes wonder of those crimes that it never committed,
The reason for the murder of a soul,
Is at being a girl than a boy!
Even then, the buried heart sings of illusions.
Buried, it sang
Of dreams unsold and
Of the dreamer, untold!
Copyrights@ Elsa Thomas 2015