The Morbid Beauty

If only one could ever return,
Her lost childhood and bygone fun.
Innocence that once radiated on her face,
The exuberance and naiveté that even time wouldn’t efface,
Have been left somewhere without a trace.

The piercing gaze of her stony eyes,
Tell the tale of truth and a thousand lies.
What turned her life into a silent silhouette?
And made her sold into the hands of a brute.

The cheeks that once were adorned with smiles,
Are marred with scars like life’s gone to exile.
And the way her face contorts in pain,
As her singed feet move through the muddy lane,
Could make even clouds shed tears in rain.

The numbness of her frost-bitten lips,
Hit my conscience like lashing of hundred whips.
Every subtle nuance of her morbid beauty,
Just makes me feel guilty of humanity.

My soul keeps mumbling a feverish prayer,
Let resilience seep into her spirit,
With generous portion of faith and love equally there,
There’s a chance she might regain her grit.

And speak out loud “I still dare to dream”,
Of a world of hope and no stifled screams.
A world free of abuses and violence,
Where she is no more resigned to a destiny of silence.