Upon the frayed hammock where she lay,
Open to the sun and wind –
The prevailing mess of her life,
Terminated all tomorrows for her.
Fate’s quick cruelty broke her tenderness:
Chunk by chunk,
Into backbreaking toil and shame.
All of eight! she carries too much burden…
Too much burden for her years.

 

Spring scatters flowers for everyone,
Giving away its secrets of delight.
But not for this child!
All of eight! She carries too much burden…
There are no colours or dawning days,
Where she could be dancing,
Or, playing with speeding toys.
No honey bees, or Ferris wheel
To summon ‘happy fright’ for her!

 

Momentarily! The Girl Child forgets her misery,
And divinely smiles at us.
In her hour of longing,
She cries with great staring eyes…
She still has hope and trust in us.
Alas! On a side of a gully or corner street,
In some distant hamlet…
For a long time she’s been forgotten,
Carrying too much burden for her years.

 

November 2012

                          

Geeta Chhabra