More Than A Soft Toy
I gifted my daughter on her birthday
a doll with smile flashing on lively face as if it was alive.
She thought she could hear the doll speak while embraced.
This is what the smiling doll said to her one day, she heard.
I am utterly amazed when I look around me,
all the angry faces of high strung rushing people I see,
their faces contorted in the grip of consternation,
defined by the contours of dismal mask.
When the gloomy faces of lonely children I view,
no glint of joy I find in their fossilized eyes.
A confusing thought upsets and pains me, I ask you,
where in your world all the smiles have gone?
I see a little girl like you having no toys to play with,
she draws dolls on the soil with soft soiled fingers.
Her pale morose face is enveloped
not by the joy of playing with toys, but by her tears.
She doesn’t see the hues of the golden sunrise,
sleep sags the eyelids as she drags her tired feet,
goes out with her mother to work as a maid,
holds her frail hands, feeling the touch of safety,
In the harsh squall of infantile servitude,
she strays to nowhere, uncared and unhappy,
tarnished by the dirt of the unkind times,
that stole her dream and fantasy the toys could create.
I wish I could give her the emotional anchor of love,
so, her innocent smile of glowing wonder doesn’t wither.
I wish I could show her the dreams of the world unseen,
for I want to be more than a soft toy for her.
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