Gifts Ultra Rare
Folded in cloth, her eyes did shine
Parabola shifted by pi, ‘the daughter is mine’
Said in front of others,
How did you feel inside?
Okay let’s make a confession
It was on mother’s guide.
The girl grew up,
As broadens a brook.
Papa followed Mama,
She had a beautiful look.
Mama hugged the life
Papa was reluctant
But the daughter believed in him
Someday, he too would be resilient.
Then occurred an accident,
Mother had to go.
Daughter was left with father
And he got a blow.
Papa, papa, she said
In everything that followed.
Little did she know,
She would never be endowed.
Then 10 years later,
At 4 o’ clock in evening,
Daughter didn’t come home
The thought itself was aching.
For maybe he didn’t want her
He was a dad within
Was it already too late?
Got a rush of adrenaline.
Went to the police,
Took help of a neighbor
Nothing came in hand,
Except the morning newspaper.
"10 year old, raped and murdered"
Stood the headline distinct.
The face was translucent,
But the apparel succinct.
Dressed in mourning stands,
He who didn’t care.
Daughters are not a burden
They are gifts ultra rare.
Respect them, accept them,
Without them, the world is despair.
Copyright © Shivam Murari | Year Posted 2013
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