Lost Innocence

 

Dark Alleys leading to darker zones

Furnaces smoking incessantly

A trail of meagre sunlight peeking in

From a square opening atop the barred windows

A shrill whistle disturbs the ominous silence

A flurry of activity commence

Short fragile bodies move at lightning speed

To deliver scalding hot molten glass

From the furnace to the moulds

To be moulded into stunningly beautiful bangles,

Very different from those parched faces

And now coarse hands and frail limbs

That work day and night

For long exhausting hours sans a break.

Emptying the pans to be rushed back and refilled

Muffled cries of pain escape from the sealed lips

As a drop or two slips on to the blistered hands and legs

Working on the moulds to create with finesse

Shushed into silence by the hawk eyes

Following their slightest deflection.

Innocence being strangled and suffocated to near death

In the dreary and scary dark dungeons

Bereft of even a breath of fresh air and light

Slaughter-houses of childhood and future citizens

Of this ever-progressive world.

By – Vinita Surana