HUSH, INNOCENCE SLEEPS. JULY 11, 2014.

“Do not stray away from the house, dear”.

 The grandparents warned their only granddaughter, in voices laced with fear.

“Dangerous are the times

Brutal the climes.”

“I will just be back”, chimed the nine year old.

 There were dreams in her eyes, and her voice was bold.

 Yes, she came back-lifeless and cold.

 You, little one,

 With the curly locks and chubby cheeks who could only lisp and chortle

 As you picked up the milk bottle

 And goggle at your mother

When she bent down to smother

 You with kiss upon loving kiss

You had no dreams, it seems

 Only to find your mama’s eyes on you,

 Sticking to you like glue

 As she lovingly changed your bib

While you flailed your tiny limbs in the crib.

Now your little fists lie useless by your side.

 Is it true that you too have died?

 But were you not just born?

And you, the one in that shroud

 Over there

Why are you so calm?

You, who had looked around

At your mother proud

 With eyes which were round.

Honestly, it is so bizarre

Just yesterday night you had twinkled like a star

 Talked of your dream

 Gushing like a stream

The dreams no longer care

 To be realized

 For they have morphed into a nightmare

Scary and bone chilling

Does this make any sense

This murder of innocence

This butchering of tiny dreams?

 Who will be tried for this killing

 Of your dreams?

What was your crime?

 That you belonged to a particular religion?

 A particular region?

Or may be everything is justified in this cruel clime?

Hush- sleep, dear ones

 In a world where there are no guns.

 Where peace sings a lullaby

 Drowning every anguished cry

And no drones assault your tiny dreams.