I Won'T Walk On It

'I won't walk on it', says The toddler, my niece. She is afraid to tread on the land, Our ancestral acres, Now reduced to a mossy backyard. She disowns the strange ground, For it is yet to be tilled. Her tender soles paddle on marbled floors, Chasing echoes of jingling anklets, and Stop at the edge where the soil begins, Like I hesitate in fear of my prayer's uncertainty Amidst randomly pointing rifles, when I set out for a day's affairs, on The road that leads to the market. I won't walk on it.