And know that
Arms will hold, voices will comfort
When you are scared
That a mother’s love is yours to claim
That a father’s pride is yours to own.
To run into school
Little back straight, head held high
Knowing a day of wonder waits
That the teacher’s trust is yours.
And then, to be that child
Of only six, punished,
Uncomprehending perhaps of the crime
Which had to be atoned for.
Locked in a room and found by familiar faces,
Not to offer freedom, but to hurt and violate
With devil hands, perverse bodies.
Did she think this was some hide and seek, I find you game?
Did she think, this too was the teacher’s way of punishing her?
Then to return home in silent devastation,
And to see your mother bleed in sorrow
Your father break in anger.
Some of us are human still,
We too weep in anguish,
Scream in defiance.
We wilt in grief, knowing
Nothing, nothing can repair
The one shot at childhood,
That once broken,
Nothing can rebuild the
Spire of the dreams of tomorrow
That rises in every child’s eyes.
© Mona Dash
Born and brought up in India Mona Dash now lives in London and calls it home. She works as a manager in a Telecoms company and is an MBA by profession. Her short stories and poetry have been published in various magazines and anthologies in India and the U.K. Her first book of fiction is represented by Redlink Literary agency and she is currently working towards an MA in Creative Writing at the London Metropolitan University http://www.monadash.net/poetry.html