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The Boy Who Lived

by Eklavya Mahajan
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This is a poem about a young boy,

boy

Source: Flickr, Surian Soosay

“The boy who lived”, to be precise.

No, not that Harry Potter guy,but someone devoid of joy.

Only pain in his eyes.

So here is a tale that I am about to tell,

of an unheard wail, an unansweredyell,

of a “jail less” jail, a living hell.

Well…

I know things are still unclear, and they might not ring a bell.

But as we move on, the picture gets clear, you’ll get it dear, what I am about to sell.

So hold on for a while, and enjoy the rhyme.

Kill your time, for a little while,

until I find, the best way

to just say,

and convey,

What is on my mind.

The boy is just seven, in a family of four

Living in heaven, need to explain anymore?

Kashmir is the place

The only paradise, they say on earth’s face.

So, well, anyways

These are sunny days, bright sunshine and no haze.

Everything is fine, but here’s the case,

Some army men, outside an army base.

Having some wine and some rum,

There is our family, and here they come.

After a day of joy and some fun,

their house is quite near the base

Two drunk men come into sight,

and see the place.

They barge right inn, with masked face.

One grabs the wife, and she puts up a fight.

Gives him a bite,

and kicks him tight.

But overpowering her, he clenches her wrist,

drops her on the floor, hits with his fist.

Her man just  cannot take it anymore,

His is wife being called a whore, As the men tore

whatever she wore,

He sprints right in through the door

While like lions they roar.

But that was his end,

may he Rest in Peace, as a bullet hits his chest.

The elder boy runs to grieve

over his dead Dad, “ oh! how can he leave?”

The heartless men killed him as well

With a thud, on the floor he fell.

As they go on, with the rape,

They see the child, standing with his mouth agape.

They laugh at him and let him live

to see his mother, getting killed.

Tears filled, his eyes cloud. The dreams they built, wrapped up in shroud.

He cries out aloud, but in the vicinity there is no crowd.

“The lone survivor from the family of four” 

The headline read,

few fake tears shed

by some Government head.

“Won’t happen again” – he said,

Then he goes to bed, with his wife named XYZ.

Everything just lost and forgotten,

Like a dream that goes rotten.

Just one link that remains,

reminding of infinite pains.

Yes, “The boy who lived”,

Lived with eyes that rain.

Lived with lifeless brains.

Lived with a heart sore.

Yes, he is the lone survivor,

From a family of four!

Eklavya Mahajan
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