She adorned her dreams in red.
Roses. Mehendi. Vermilion.
Her fondest dream of cradle,
Now was swept off the floor.
Red that was too.
Hanging on to Papa's fingers,
She saw her Mom lying inside.
Dark room and doctors.
She knew then, apples were an old lie.
She would run hard. He on her heels.
Stealing morsels off his, her game of love.
Love only siblings would know of.
Her cherub grew in a nest not hers.
The lullaby she could never sing,
Was hummed from a distance.
Wings then drifted off her child to different skies.
And the Koel never sung again.
|Picture courtesy https://www.facebook.com/themagnifier|