Some faces never fade,
Some moments never die;
For a war-torn life,
Those remain a symbol of peace.
They sat—the man and the woman, side by side;
Silently glow twenty five candles
To burn a few pages of memories
Of a little girl whom the angels brought for them
On one such day to shine on their eyes.
She would lie on his lap
Gently holding her mom’s hand,
With eyes broadened would endlessly tell
What amazing things she had discovered.
Every day, he would dream of a new tale
To tell her, else how would she sleep?
The candles burn
The pages burn
Burns the last glimpse of those innocuous eyes
Burn colourful wings of the butterfly
Burns a new school tunic.
The man dreamt of a new tale,
But the evening dug the grave for it.
The tiny bird was snatched away
From a tiny nest that her parents built,
Not even knowing, why...why?
None could see her again;
Maybe, she was killed
Maybe, she was sold
Maybe, she was rescued
Maybe, she grew up
Somewhere, in another distant moon.
The father still dreams of her,
The mother still sobs alone,
Maybe, she still too weeps
If she is alive; maybe, she’s not!
Maybe, she needs to dance
Amidst smoke and stench
For to carry her father’s dream
Of feeling how precious is life;
Maybe, sleep evades her eyes
For a tale to be told by her papa,
Maybe, she is too tired of tales of life,
If she is alive; maybe, she’s not!
Her papa roams in and searches for
Within faces of every girl of her age,
Ceaselessly guessing, “Isn’t she my doll?”
Maybe, if she is alive; maybe, she’s not!
The dream story lies hidden
Within moaning soul of an old father,
Maybe, to remain forever untold;
Maybe, destiny does not permit
Some promises to be kept...maybe!
